


If I Should Stay

by Yaxley



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaxley/pseuds/Yaxley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Uri decided it was time he learnt more about the Underground, he didn’t expect to be robbed within the first five minutes and forced to accept the help of a criminal in getting it back. But it turns out Kenny’s all right company for a shit-peddling murderer and surprisingly enough, got plenty to teach him too (and not just about how to fight dirty). </p>
<p>Inspired by Before Sunrise (that is, a lot of walking around the city, talking about faux-philosophy, eating enough for a week and occasionally running from trouble)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Should Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the assassination attempt but before Kenny joins the council.

"Hey, Lord fuckface! Cry louder for your inbred cunt mother to hear!"

The Underground: haven for vagabonds, the criminal, the perpetually impoverished, the immoral, the unfortunate, the Wanted Dead or Alive. Kenny fit all these descriptions and more.

It was a hellish cesspit but at least it was _his_ cesspit.

His boots squeaked against mould-slicked cobblestones towards the fracas. A leer was enough; the flea-bitten boys cowered and resentfully handed over their booty. Good old Ackerman charm. As they slouched away, one of the boys jingled and clinked, clearly still laden with coin. 

"Now, now," lilted Kenny, crooking his finger. "Liars are a titan’s favourite snack."

"Get lost! It's mine, I earned it!" shrieked the boy, forgetting all the basics of thievery by protecting his cache with cupped hands as though it were a rodent about to wriggle to freedom, and thereby revealing its location. He snarled when Kenny eyed it with pointed amusement. Consider it a most pertinent lesson. With nothing to gain, the other two boys exchanged glances, their willowy bodies already backing away. Pity there was no such thing as loyalty down these streets. 

"'M'not gonna ask, kid."

The boy darted but Kenny was faster. Kenny snatched a fistful of threadbare rags and yanked the squawking pile of skin and bone so hard the rattling of the near empty skull was practically audible. From there, it was just an easy swipe at the boy's waistband, deft fingers latching onto the leather money pouch, and Kenny emerged victorious. 

He grinned a mouthful of gleaming teeth at the boys' retreating figures, then turned to scrutinise the still-gasping victim left behind like vegetable scraps for lesser dogs to fight over. 

"Lemme guess. You lasted exactly five minutes."

“At least ten," came the peevish response. Blue eyes flashed with indignation. "The contingency purse wasn't as cleverly hidden as I'd thought."

"Unless you jam it up your arse, loose coin can't be hidden. And even that's not foolproof." 

The man threw him a sullen glare, smacking aside Kenny's offered hand and heaving himself to his feet with half a wince. 

Kenny’s lips merely stretched wider, his predatory teeth flashing. He tossed the reclaimed purses in his hand a couple of times. The jingling was solid, stifled. Heavy. Perfect for a man with time to spare and appetites to whet. 

"Finder's keepers. Cheer up, king. First round's on me."

* * *

Uri Reiss was led to a ramshackle matchbox of a tavern with panels slicked by permanent mildew and cold that gnawed at one’s bones. It reeked of fetid perspiration from the unwashed; to call it unpleasant would be an understatement. Definitely not the place for impressing company, which was likely the reason why the thug Kenny chose it. Unconsciously, Uri wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and suppressed the urge to gag.

"Home of the desperate, the hardened, and those who don't give a fuck."

Twin sprawling communal tables dissected the mostly unoccupied room, surrounded by horseshoe-shaped booths snug against the walls. The ceiling hung low, with glimpses of fading painted motifs in geometric shapes crossing one another like stars. It might have once been beautiful, before the soot and grime and stains of inconsistent upkeep but Uri couldn't imagine anyone noticed it anymore unless they had been resigned to staring, glass-eyed, straight up, belly full of ale. 

He slid into a booth, the woollen fabric of his robes catching on the tackiness of the seats and gingerly rested his elbows on the greasy table. It probably made cleaning easier to already have that protective layer of grime. 

“Budge over,” Kenny said, shoving Uri regardless to plonk into the booth with his back solid against the wall. Direct, unobscured view of the doorway. "If your jaw drops any further, you're gonna wind up chewing flies."

Embarrassed, Uri shut his mouth with an abrupt snap. 

Although it was daytime, few shards of light penetrated the stained glass windows, throwing dirty beams of muted colour that dissipated before it could reach anything solid. In the lamplight, the tavern looked vaguely sinister, everything more covert, as though all the shadows were waiting to deliver secrets. 

Two tables away, customers were ingratiatingly regaling the barmaid with unlikely, overwrought tales of success. At Kenny’s arched eyebrow, the barmaid shot to their table with a speed indicative of just how scintillating she’d found that conversation. She gave Kenny a curt nod and grunt of recognition. The pleasantry ceased when her gaze slid to Uri. 

“Whaddya want?”

"Ale,” said Kenny. “And not the watered horse piss either."

Kenny caught Uri's gaze once the barmaid snorted and left. "For a few extra, she's happy to extend her hospitality." 

"I have absolutely no interest—” Uri started, flushing an indignant red. 

“Whoa, no need to get insulting! She ain’t that bad. Bit lacking in enthusiasm, could knock off about a decade but there’s potential.” Kenny leered. “Too spoilt for choice at your fancy balls? Silk and lace and perfumed little birds twittering around. In the end, a bit of warmth is the same as any other.”

“Haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

"Cut the noble bullshit, your lordship. It's not fooling anyone.” Kenny chuckled and languidly stretched out his legs beneath the table. His hat tipped low across his brow; in the shadow of its wide brim, his grey eyes glittered with amusement. “Everybody knows your lot are more depraved, craven, and downright despicable by three-fold compared to the lowest common criminal down here. Only you can get away with it, so why stop? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“No,” Uri muttered. “I just wanted to know — what it’s like. In a general sense.”

“To starve and get kicked around like a dog? Well, it’s thrilling. What the fuck did you expect?”

“I-I don’t know! Perhaps I ought to just leave.”

“Don’t be pathetic. You just need to harden up a little, learn how to really live and give in to that little voice sometimes. The more you fall, the easier it becomes, and the further you’re willing to fall the next time. Sit your arse down.” 

Uri found himself being abruptly yanked back onto the bench with a thump. A tankard of ale was shoved in his direction; the dark liquid sloshed over the rim. 

“Now, drink up. I’m gonna teach you a thing or two about survival. First, try not to get robbed by children — that’s just embarrassing.”

“That was not my intention.” Uri took a cautious sip of the ale, smothering the shudder that coursed through him with a wet cough. 

“Too strong?”

“No such thing,” Uri gasped. 

Kenny smirked nonetheless. “Second, keep your eyes on the door.”

A trio of burly men stepped through, the sort of people that Uri would not particularly like to encounter on the street, or anywhere else really, unless there were prison bars between them. 

“Look at them, sizing us up. Think it’s because they wanna make friends? There ain’t friends here, only enemies and victims. ”

Shifting in his seat self-consciously when it became apparent that the newcomers were eyeing his purse with great interest, Uri thought perhaps Kenny was right to scorn him after all. 

“Your run-of-the-mill poor. Likely dangerous if provoked. Would seize any opportunity to turn a profit.” Kenny had already downed his tankard and was signalling for another. “Problem is, your name’s a hindrance here. You ain’t got influence, see. Even if you report them to the Military Police, what you gonna say? ‘Fat, stinky, pot-bellied, greased-up, filthy limp hair, missing teeth’ … that’s half the bloody Underground.”

“So what you’re saying is that I ought to just stay in my place and never show any sort of curiosity for the lives of others? Everyone in their place. Care only about myself.”

Kenny gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Don’t flatter yourself into thinking you’ve got a shred of interest about these people. This is all purely for personal satisfaction so you can feel better about yourself. At the end of the day, we’re all just inconveniences for others.”

“You—”

“ _I_?” Kenny let the word linger. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Uri’s eyes narrowed. “You’re nothing more than a hypocrite preying on weakness for the sake of feeling more powerful — because that’s all it is, a _feeling_. It does nothing to change you, it doesn’t make you a better person.” Uri spoke deliberately, drawing out the thread of his thoughts. “Defeating enemies doesn’t make you any stronger. In fact, it weakens you. That’s one less person you can call on for support.”

“And yet that’s precisely the strategy your family have employed for the past century. So who’s the hypocrite now?”

“I-I don’t know,” he said quietly. Suddenly feeling exhausted, Uri slumped back into the booth. “People don’t live in isolation. That’s the problem.”

“That’s why you’re buying my allegiance.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you owe me nothing. Your allegiance is entirely yours to give. I certainly didn’t demand it and you know that I cannot force it. If you’d walked away that day, so be it. And yet you stayed and here you are.” He allowed himself a small smile. “In between those little digs at me, my life, those of my peers, you’ve let yourself slip — you _like_ me, don’t you?”

Kenny snorted and brushed away a lock of hair impatiently. “Absolutely not, you dick-choking pathetic excuse for a monster.”

“Ah, then you must need me, because there’s no other reason why you’ve decided to suddenly be civil towards someone you once were so desperate to destroy. I’m watching you, Kenny.”

“I could be laying a trap for you and you’re walking straight into it with that stupid grin on your mug.”

“Your contingency plan was to wait for me to wander into the Underground so that you could orchestrate a robbery with your cronies, with you entering the scene as some sort of a hero — and I would be eternally in your favour? How optimistically specific.”

“Well, it seems to be working. You’re exactly where I intend for you to end up. You think this is your bog-standard tavern but it’s actually an elaborately constructed stage meant to scare the shit out of you. That barmaid is in fact an out-of-work actress. Out-of-work because she’s terrible at acting, obviously.”

“Or very skilled at pretending to be uninterested.”

“So you’ve seen through the disguise.”

Another tankard of ale appeared before him with a thunk. Uri noted that Kenny had already polished off a second and was annoyed to find a little competitive surge flicker inside. Uri drank it, still determined to despise every bitter drop. “And your endgame?”

“What could I possibly want from you?”

“I find that the scent of money is usually a more powerful lure than the promise of good company,” he said waspishly, wiping at his mouth. 

But Kenny was completely unaffected. “Which is just as well because I’m yet to experience any sort of good company.”

“Not money then. Something else entirely.” Uri furrowed his brow, draining his ale and feeling vaguely ill. “Influence?”

“It’s pitiful watching you strain so hard yet fail to produce more than a fart.”

“Then pity me.”

Kenny attacked his third tankard with gusto then made a big show of wiping at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He cleared his throat. “Knowledge is power and blackmail is the most reliable currency in this world full of deceit.”

It was difficult keeping the disappointment off Uri’s face. “Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? You wound me.”

“Just giving you a taste of the real world, your majesty.”

“Don’t call me that in public.”

“Relax. They’ll assume I’m making fun of you. Which I am, by the way.”

“How comforting.” No sooner did Uri finish his ale was another fresh one pushed toward him. He groaned. “Can’t help but feel like I’m being taken advantage of. Is this part of your plan? Have me so inebriated I’ll sign over all my deeds.”

Kenny fixed him with a look of unimpressed disbelief. “You know that pickpocketing is one of my master skills, right?”

Uri’s hand slid to his purse. It felt suspiciously emptier than before. “Oh. You could’ve just said something.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

It was undignified but Uri grunted anyway. "When did you learn how to — to do those things? The so-called master skills.”

"When the choice was either to become good at it or be a victim for the rest of my life. You wanna learn?" Without waiting for a response, Kenny pulled out a leather bundle from the inside of his trench coat and began to unravel it. Inside where several delicate-looking implements for picking locks.

Uri scooted away without bothering with subtlety. “No, that won't be necessary."

"It could come in handy. Never know when your fortune might change."

"The transience of life above and below ground."

“Exactly. You could end up a sewer rat getting fucked over by everyone you know. It’d be easy too since the Military Police don’t come down here as much anymore."

"Since?"

Kenny grinned broadly, draining the last of his drink and jumping to his feet. "Don't you know it's dangerous down here? Full of criminals, apparently. C’mon, princess, let’s get you back into your tower.”

Gratefully pushing away his tankard, Uri scrambled quickly to his feet and instinctively raised the hood on his robes again. 

“Had your fill of excitement for the day?”

“Far too much,” Uri said with a tired heave, following Kenny onto the street. It was chilly down here, made worse by the permanent damp. “Guess I’m not made for this kind of an environment.”

“Built too fucking soft, that’s your problem.” Kenny said this matter-of-factly, as though he were merely pointing out a pebble on the street. “I’ll take you up. Hate to seem ungracious to an esteemed guest and all. Plus, it’d be good to have you pay for all my future drinks.”

“Shall I simply set up a trust fund on which you can engorge yourself fat?”

They approached the nearest staircase to the surface, owned by some lesser lord that Uri was not familiar with. He paid the fare for the both of them without much thought until he noticed the youngsters loitering nearby with yearning in their eyes, and not for the first time since setting foot in the Underground, was suddenly glad for his fortuitous birth. 

The ascent to the staircase was carried out in silence, with Kenny brushing his hair back every now and then, clearly glancing over his shoulder. They both visibly relaxed upon reaching the open air and direct sunshine. 

“Home sweet home.” Kenny walked a few paces then jammed his hands into his pockets. He puffed out his cheeks, appearing bored. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

As discretely as possible, Uri patted his purse to confirm that it was still there. “Yes, thank you for earlier. It’s been quite an education.”

Kenny shrugged. 

With a warm smile, Uri inclined his head and started to head down the lane. He’d barely gone half a block before hearing a mighty shout from the direction he’d just come. 

“Oi, watch out!”

He glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see a blur dart out from a shadow and knock right into him. Uri stumbled to the ground, hands scrabbling for purchase. “What?” he gasped and recovered enough to realise that he’d been robbed. Again. 

Quick on the heels of the thief was Kenny, who didn’t bother to answer the very obvious. His long legs were clearly one of his greatest assets — he ate up the ground in no time, sprinting with light feet, cutting through the street like lightning. With every step he gained speed, easily catching up to the thief as though it were little more than a leisurely stroll. He snatched at the back of the thief’s jacket and flung him into the nearest wall. 

The thief yelped as he smashed into a shopfront, recoiling as Kenny’s shadow loomed over him.

Uri gingerly rose to his feet and picked his way over, ignoring the pain blossoming along his hip. He got close enough to hear Kenny hiss, “Hands off my property.”

The thief glared up and spat a thick, white gob on the dirt next to Kenny’s boot. “You got no clout up here, mate.”

Kenny responded by digging the heel of his boot into the thief’s cheek, wiping off a trail of mud. “I like a good challenge,” he sneered and landed a swift kick to the thief’s jaw. Then he hauled the thief up by the front of his shirt and threw him against the wall again like a ragdoll. 

Uri paled, his blood running cold, picking up the pace. “No!” he cried hoarsely, the realisation quickly settling in of just how dangerous Kenny really was, and how stupid he’d been to spend any more time in his company than necessary.

“Though yer not puttin’ up much of a fight.”

A closed-fist punch went to the stomach. The thief groaned and writhed with pain. Kenny grinned, feral, and swung a neat upper-cut to the thief’s jaw. A trail of blood trickled out of the thief’s mouth. 

“Stop! Kenny, stop it!” Uri shouted, shuddering as Kenny stomped hard on the thief’s hand. The purse tumbled out of the thief’s grasp. “Please, Kenny! I said: _stop!_ ”

But Kenny continued until the man ceased to respond, be it a kick in the stomach or the threat of a heel against his throat. Only then did Kenny swoop in to collect the purse. He threw it at Uri irritably and walked off, shoulders stiff and brimming with tension. 

The purse burned hot in Uri’s hand as he clutched it close. He knew that he should just let it go. He shouldn’t interfere in things that he didn’t understand. But it simply wasn’t _right_.

With the crowd dispersed, Kenny was already halfway down the lane with his hat tipped low, whistling softly to himself, a jaunty tune that managed to sound sinister. 

Uri gave swift chase to confront him. “Why didn’t you stop? Why did you have to keep going even when he had lost?”

Peeling in close, menacingly, Kenny snickered. His eyes glittered in the shade of his hat. “Why does anyone do anything?”

A brief thought crossed Uri’s mind that he ought to be frightened but instead it just incensed him even further. “That was unnecessarily cruel.”

“Did nothing I said earlier penetrate your thick skull?” Kenny smiled widely; it was a hideous sight to behold. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I had to, because you couldn’t keep your fucking trap shut. I don’t listen to anyone, got it? I’m my own man. I don’t get called off like a fucking dog brought to heel. I could have — would have — let him go except you had to stick your nose in and force me to follow through.”

Kenny rocked back onto his heels and stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his trench coat. “Appearances, fuckwit.”

“And I’m yours, huh?”

“Damned right.”

Kenny started down the lane again, passing the ramshackle squat apartment blocks where boarded up windows were like a kind of despairing necessary decor, as though to not have the windows boarded up was somehow flaunting prosperity and beckoning robbery. 

Bloated red with frustration, Uri tromped behind him, glaring daggers into Kenny’s back. He didn’t exactly know why he was suddenly the one following Kenny but — but, well, perhaps he needed to make sure that Kenny didn’t cause any more trouble! 

Half a block of crumbling houses later, Kenny glanced over his shoulder and caught the brewing storm in Uri’s gaze. He paused, head canted to one side. 

“Fight me,” he said, as though he were offering Uri a cup of tea instead. 

“What?” Uri glanced around, hoping to spot the joke. “You’re mad.”

But Kenny just laughed, then put on a mocking tone. “Scared?”

“I’m above that sort of juvenile taunting!”

Kenny danced before Uri and peered deep into his eyes, heavy with appraisal, then stuck out a hand and shoved Uri square in the chest. Hard. 

“I’m not going to play your stupid games,” Uri snarled, slapping aside Kenny’s hand and taking a wide arc around him. 

“Oh-ho! Not willing to be completely humiliated, you mean?”

Uri gave him a scathing look.

“C’mon. I’ll give you a free first shot.” Kenny stood back, held up his arms and left the rest of his body exposed. “Go on. When’s the last time you had a little fun — fed the beast within?”

“Definitely not interested—”

“Hit me, for fuck’s sake!”

“No!” Uri snapped — so Kenny socked him hard in the jaw. Uri’s glare turned murderous. 

“Defend yourself, dickhead,” sang Kenny as he flicked at Uri’s ear.

Annoyance flared up inside. Uri lashed out, rather half-heartedly with his right fist. Predictably, Kenny blocked it easily and cut in with a light, fast jab to Uri’s exposed stomach, then danced back out of reach. 

“Too slow,” Kenny sniggered. “You’ve got the reflexes of an old woman.”

Uri growled then charged again, grunting as Kenny effortlessly ducked the attack and hooked his arm around the back of Uri’s knees instead, lifting him with the sharp edge of his shoulder. Before he knew it, Uri was sprawled on the ground. 

“This is miserable,” Uri groaned, pushing himself up slowly.

“Pathetic. No wonder you’re such a shitty king.”

“That has nothing to do with prowess for brawling,” Uri snapped, climbing to his feet and brushing the dirt off as though it might soothe his wounded pride.

Kenny leapt in again but this time Uri was ready for him. He dodged and grabbed at Kenny’s arm, twisting it. Kenny grunted, used his forward momentum to spin to the side and landed a solid blow to Uri’s cheek before dropping to a crouch, poised for the next attack. 

Uri stumbled, wincing and rubbing at his face, then straightened himself and launched again with a growl. This time he aimed for Kenny’s throat — missed it and wound up staggering. A rough shove on his back was all it took to send him tumbling onto the ground. He yelped as a heavy weight came upon him. Kenny had pounced on top and pinned both of Uri’s arms behind his back. 

“Giving up so easily, your majesty?” chuckled Kenny, his breath tickling against Uri’s ear. 

With a kind of coltish buck, Uri managed to throw Kenny’s weight to the side, then squirmed and writhed as hard as he could. His wrist rolled with a dull click. Pain shot up his arm like fire but he managed to detangle himself for a fraction of a second, just enough to clamber half-way to his knees. A pair of muscular thighs clamped around his neck and he was yanked down to the dirt once more. Kenny had Uri’s head trapped between his knees and squeezed, eliciting a yelp. 

“I said, give up?”

Uri snarled, digging his fingers deep into Kenny’s thighs for a second, hard enough to leave bruises, then threw a solid punch at Kenny’s shin. 

“Devious motherfucker,” Kenny hissed, faltering long enough for Uri to see the opening and wrap his trembling hands around Kenny’s throat. Kenny lashed out, perhaps an unconscious reflex, kicking him right on the pelvic bone with the wooden heel of his boot, as quick and as hard as a mule. 

Uri howled and let go, coiling up in pain.

“Enjoying the freakshow?” Kenny barked at the passersby who had initially appeared concerned but now hastened to move on, refusing to make eye contact.

“Fairly poor entertainment,” Uri gasped, his chest heaving as he rolled onto his back. The fabric of his shirt grew damp from the steam of his healing although to anyone else, it simply looked like perspiration. It didn’t stop the thudding pain, however. With a groan, he pushed up to a sitting position and looked down at Kenny, who was still lying in the middle of the street with his eyes closed and an indulgent, satisfied smirk on his face. 

“If you were a better fighter, would it be more or less entertaining?”

“Despite what people espouse,” said Uri, as he gingerly rose to his feet. “People will always enjoy watching one party be completely thrashed by another.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting that I completely thrashed you?” Kenny opened one eye, which gleamed with delight. 

“It was a theoretical matter.”

Kenny chuckled, grabbing a fistful of Uri’s robes to haul himself up, and ignoring the resulting indignant shout of surprise. “Theoretically, how much do you think that fight was worth?”

“There’s a reason why bare-knuckle fighting is outlawed.”

“Probably the same reason why it’s so popular in the Underground.”

“It’s not surprising that you’re involved in such unsavoury past times.”

“Don’t compare that child’s play to my actual unsavoury past times. What an insulting thing to say to Kenny the Ripper.”

Uri let out an involuntary snigger. He tried to cover it up by feigning interest in the rather utilitarian architecture surrounding them but his shoulders continued to shake. When Kenny punched him on the arm, Uri spluttered with laughter. “What do you rip? The s-seam of your trousers?”

“Heads,” Kenny said loudly. “And women’s bodices.”

Schooling his expression into one of outmost seriousness, Uri hummed thoughtfully as they continued down the lane, side-stepping the horse manure that mapped out a path on the cobblestones. “Well, it takes all sorts,” he said with a languid shrug. “Some people enjoy butterfly collections, others enjoy wearing women’s clothing and undressing for the gratification of others. My apologies, I hadn’t realised it was a misappropriation of your actual name, Kenny the _Stripper_.”

Kenny stuck out his leg and scowled when Uri cheerfully jumped over it. “You seem to know a lot about this. Are you what they call a connoisseur? All aristocrats are fiends for such depravity.”

“Perhaps not the specifics but I can take an educated guess regarding the general flow of proceedings,” said Uri breezily. “Clothed person removes garments.”

“That’s the least erotic description of a highly prized art form I have ever heard. You could work for the newspapers with that amount of creativity.”

“Good to know that if things don’t work out, I have something to fall back on.”

“Yeah, because there aren’t enough applications for the ability to turn into a fifteen metre titan.”

That stopped him dead. At Kenny’s raised eyebrow, Uri leaned in and urgently whispered, “That is supposed to be a secret.” He glanced around furtively but the others on the street barely cared about anything beyond the next few feet of walkable path in front. It did, however, make Uri feel uneasy at the thought of potentially needing to put the Co-ordinate into action for such a foolish mistake.

On the other hand, Kenny harboured no such qualms. “Ever thought about going into construction work?” 

“What? This power is sacred, Kenny!” Uri hissed. 

“Build a fucking church, then. What else are you gonna do? Farming? Speed up the ploughing process by running your fingers through the soil?” 

Shrugging off the tight grip on his arm, Kenny resumed strolling down the street. Up ahead there was a growing crowd of people who all funnelled into the same narrow gap. Mitras was neatly cut into wedges like a pie by six main streets and the outer districts were densely populated with high-rise apartments of up to seven storeys packed tightly together. 

Music streamed towards them, something bright and cheerful, that blended together with the general noise of several hundred people. His pace increased, leaving Uri to jog in order to catch up. 

“As much as I am aware that you are being facetious,” Uri huffed, peering at the crowd hesitantly. “That would be a more efficient method compared to the bullock and plough.”

They paused in front of a sign, freshly painted in layers so thick the lettering had become embossed. It simply read: the Fairground. Kenny turned to him with a grin. “You see, the possibilities are endless! You won’t have to join the circus after all.”

“My dreams.”

“Come on, let’s see what you’re missing out on.” 

There was no discernible entry or exit to the carnival; exhibits were simply squeezed in between the buildings or under the arched walkways, sprawling an entire city block. 

“This is for children,” Uri said, eyeing the series of street urchins lingering near the latrines hoping to catch unawares an unsuspecting squatter, with an involuntary frown of unease.

“What a time to be young!” Kenny exclaimed expansively and took off at a brisk march towards the stalls. “Uri, get out your purse. I’m hungry.”

It wasn’t the clean, sanitised entertainment of ladies in walking dresses and parasols taking part in inoffensive games. This was the dirty, bawdy humour of a hardened class who had learned to see the light side in everything, who faced the threat of disease, starvation, and injury everyday, in search for an outlet. It was loud. Noise pressed in around them; throngs of people chatting, laughing, arguing, bartering over wares, the occasional shout or scream that pierced through the air, which seemed to muffle everything else like a blanket. 

Kenny strolled, head up, chest out, into the crowd with Uri hastening to follow. He slipped into a thick gathering — a plume of charcoal smoke and the scent of roasting meat drifted into the air. 

Saliva gathered in Uri’s mouth. He hurriedly swallowed it away as he tried to follow but Kenny was too far ahead. Uri resorted to pushing but the crowd pushed back and closed in around him. The smell of the unwashed was thick, pungent, spicy. Uri’s hand automatically clamped onto his purse as he tried again to free himself from the melee.

“Kenny!” he shouted, unable to help the squeak of panic. The unfamiliar faces loomed, dark and swarthy, heavily bearded. Thickly muscled arms in coarse work tunics shoved him forward — he surged with them, helpless as a flutter of paper in the current of the river. Uri elbowed and shouldered and kneed but to no avail. “Kenny!” he shouted again, voice thin and reedy over the pulsing crowd. 

“Hey, short-arse.” 

A hand descended from within the crowd and dragged him out. Uri pitched forward, crashing into a few others, then staggered to a halt with gasping breaths. 

“There you are. Here.” 

Kenny shoved a skewer of meat dripping with oily juices into Uri’s hand. 

“Oh! Here…” With his free hand, Uri started to rummage for his purse but Kenny gave him an incredulous look. 

“Pickpocket, remember? Anyway, it was free.” Happily chewing on his skewer, Kenny shoved a path through the crowd of people carelessly. It seemed that having bony shoulders were an important advantage.

Looking sceptically at his own skewer, Uri made a face before trailing after Kenny. “You mean, you coerced the stallholder into giving you free food.”

“Consider it insurance,” Kenny called over his shoulder. “Or free advertising. Or something.”

“You’re not a celebrity, Kenny,” grumbled Uri, waving his skewer a little wildly as he made the point and attracting the attention of a few stray dogs. “I certainly hadn’t heard of you.”

“Just because I don’t appear on a stage. Besides, I appear on a different stage — life itself.”

Uri squeezed through the crowd until he was pressed up uncomfortably close to Kenny. “And you fancy yourself director, actor, and most importantly, audience.”

“It’s important to take pride in your work.” Kenny flung his arm around Uri’s shoulders and directed him through the densest part of the crowd, absently tearing into a sizeable chunk of meat. Juice ran down his chin in an oily rivet. 

“You’re disgusting,” Uri pronounced, flinching. 

“It’s simply too good. It’s like the cow had stood out in the rain all day before slaughter and it’s spitting at me for eating it. Stop playing with yours and just eat.”

“Charming.” Uri bit as delicately as he could into his own skewer. It oozed juice. He hurriedly turned away to wipe his chin with a handkerchief.

“Filthy pig,” Kenny chortled. “Now you’re one of us. Here!” He reached back around, capping his fist with the cuff of his sleeve and wiped at Uri’s chin … rather hard. Almost like a punch to the jaw, in fact, and alarmingly coincidently exactly where Kenny had punched him earlier. 

“You know, it _does_ hurt.”

“Big scary beast like you, hurt by a mere mortal? Boo-fucking-hoo. Grow a pair.” Kenny’s teeth flashed as he gnashed into the meat and chewed noisily, lips smacking and grease smearing at the edges of his mouth and on his cheeks. “You chompity-chomp humans in the same way. Like this: tear off the neck — gnaw on the arms,” he chewed emphatically, “then spit out the bone.” He spat out some gristle onto the ground. A dog loped over and gobbled it up within seconds. “Human pie. Now there’s a thought. Maybe I could round up all the corrupt politicians to make a midnight snack for you.”

“Hardly.” Uri glared at him over the top of a particularly large chunk of roast. “This is so undignified,” he muttered, the intensity of the glare strengthening when Kenny started to pull out his dagger. 

“Shall I cut it up into small pieces to save his lordship the indignity of having to use his jaw muscles? My apologies, your jaw must still be sore — like your ego.”

A portly man shoved past them as he toddled into a tent, which caused a small ruckus at the entrance. 

“Watch it!” Kenny growled. “Bloody peasants need to learn their place, eh?”

But Uri was too busy squinting through the gap in the tent to be bothered with chastising him. It was difficult to discern exactly what was contained within but emanating from the tent were hushed gasps of horror and amazement. There wasn’t much that would surprise Uri about this world any longer but it still piqued his curiosity. 

“Pay up!” snapped the ticket master at the entrance to the tent. 

Kenny narrowed his eyes at the man, flipped him off, then dragged Uri to the back of the tent. He gripped his dagger and slit a hole in the tent. Uri excitedly elbowed him out of the way to peer inside. 

“Oi, I could have taken out an eye with this!” Kenny grumbled, brandishing the skewer like a sword. 

“You must feel right at home then,” Uri murmured distractedly. 

Kenny’s head joined him at the gash in the tent and jerked towards a towering man with rippling muscles who glowered down at the audience, occasionally hefting above his head a plank of wood that was balanced on either end by a dwarf. The tall man let out a bestial roar. “Oh look, it’s your cousin.” 

“Look, it’s your mother,” Uri snapped, pointing at a woman on the far end of the tent who sported an impressive moustache. “The family resemblance is most striking.”

“Fuck off. I’ve surrounded myself with enough freaks not to need any more help throwing up my lunch.” 

In the opposite corner, a contortionist presented flowers to the spectators between the toes of her feet, and used her slender, limber legs to create a large blob of a bubble that erupted over the top of the audience. “That one with the legs spread is your sister,” Kenny leered. 

“Guess we’d fit right in, then.”

“Don’t associate me with that nasty royal blood. I might affect an accent and start referring to others as ‘my dear chap’ and lose my sense of humour.”

“That’s true. I’m not sure the world would survive without your exquisite brand of vulgarity you like to pass off as humour.”

“Hey, you two! Scram!” hollered the ticket master, who had rounded the corner and heaved an empty crate at them with surprising accuracy. 

Kenny deflected it with an impatient brush of the arm. Nonetheless, they squirmed out of the stacked crates and back onto the street. 

“Wow, must have also been related to the strong man. What the fuck kind of family have you got there?”

“You have — no idea,” Uri panted as he struggled to keep up with Kenny’s absurdly long legs. “Wait up.”

“Do you hire people to do your exercise for you? What’s wrong with you?”

“To be fair, I’m not one to regularly invite angry pursuit due to illicit activities.”

Kenny chuckled, pleased, as though Uri had just paid him the greatest compliment, and clapped him on the back. 

They followed the flow of people that led down to the open courtyard. A large tarpaulin stretched between the roofs of the surrounding apartments to form a cover, and around it too.

“Come and take a look at the most death-defying acts! Be amazed by the lovely Elena as she soars through the air like a bird! And don’t forget: Icktar the Idiot, guaranteed to make your belly ache from laughter!”

“Even if my belly doesn’t ache, I’m willing to see this just to meet someone with as stupid a name as Icktar.” Kenny crossed his fingers. “Please let him have a bowl-cut.”

“Kenny.”

“Icktar! I wouldn’t even call an old nag that name.” Kenny tugged on Uri’s arm and pushed him in front of the ticket booth. “You’re not even putting up much of a fight.” 

Uri handed over the money and thrust the tickets at Kenny, who gleefully skipped into the tent and elbowed his way to a centre-front seat. Uri sat down next to him and tugged up the hood of his robes self-consciously, and cringed when Kenny whistled for the snack vendor to attend. Kenny bought an enormous basket and dug his hands straight in, barely pausing to shove a fistful of the snack into his mouth. 

“What is that?” Uri frowned at the fluffy white morsels. 

“Popcorn,” Kenny said, bits of white flakes spitting out of his mouth. “Don’t you have this?”

“No.” Uri took a piece; it was slightly sticky, partially coated in hardened caramel, and delicately nibbled on the fronds of the flake. 

“More!” Kenny said impatiently, cramming four or five pieces into Uri’s mouth. 

Choking briefly, Uri slapped away Kenny’s overenthusiastic attempt to thump him on the back. Then he chewed.

“I’ve never seen anyone eat popcorn quite so angrily. You look like an angry hamster.” Kenny sniggered. “Good though, right?”

Uri nodded, disgruntled. It _was_ good. Sweet and salty and fragrant and crunchy, like the best of all confectionary rolled into one. He thought that Rod might appreciate some too — although Uri would have to lie about where he’d sourced it from. “It is palatable,” he declared. 

Kenny snorted in response, then turned to face the ring as the lights dimmed and the show began. 

Unlike in a theatre, the audience carried on chatting so that it was a heady, noisy mix of voices creating an orchestra of sound that blurred into the jovial, jaunty cacophony of pipe music and brass. A beacon of light burst from the ring, shining directly upwards. 

They lifted their heads to follow the direction of the light and drew in a sharp breath as a scantily dressed woman perched from a small wooden swing that hung from the highest beam. She waved quite ordinarily, as though she weren’t twenty metres from the ground. There was no net to catch her should she fall. Uri momentarily felt a pulse of panic course through him. If she fell, would he be compelled to shift into a titan to catch her? Or would he just have to watch as she smashed into the ground? 

He squirmed while Kenny cheered and continued to shove popcorn into his eager gob, oblivious to Uri’s plight. “This is dangerous,” he hissed, fists clenched tight.

“Of course it is! It wouldn’t be interesting if it was just some bloke jumping around the ground, would it?” Kenny rolled his eyes and pushed the basket of popcorn under Uri’s nose. “Gotta keep up your energy,” he said by way of explanation.

“For what?”

“For the next time we need to run away from the authorities.” As though it were completely self-evident. “You really need to learn to plan ahead. No wonder you got jumped so easily — ah! Fucking hell!” Popcorn spilled onto the ground as Kenny grabbed at Uri’s arm painfully hard. “What the fuck was that!”

Uri’s arm was going numb. He tried to tug it away but the grip was vice-like. 

“Did you fucking see that!” 

“You’re spilling the popcorn…”

“Fuck the popcorn!” Kenny roared, settling for shoving Uri a little. More popcorn tumbled onto the floor. 

“Uh, Kenny…”

Now it was Uri’s turn to tug on his companion’s arm. 

“Watch the fucking show, Uri.”

“Yeah, I will — I will in a second! But uh, look…”

Kenny finally fore his eyes away from the soaring acrobat and saw the mess of popcorn discarded on the floor … being gobbled up by several dirty-faced children with grubby hands. 

“Hey, shitty kids! Get the fuck away from there!” Kenny shouted, which attracted a few disgruntled stares. Uri wanted to disappeared into the ground. Kenny kicked at the kids; they scattered briefly but crept back when Kenny crossed his legs again. He shooed them with a great wave of the arm and ended up accidentally smacking the entire basket of popcorn out of Uri’s hands. “For fuck’s sake!” 

Kenny beckoned the snack vendor over again for another basket. “Here,” he muttered irritably and shoved it at Uri, but Uri shook his head and pushed it back. Kenny harrumphed, then gave it to the nearest of the children. “Don’t eat off the fucking ground. Animals shit there, you know.”

The kids’ eyes grew wide. “Thanks mister!” they chirped. 

“Fuck off and leave us alone,” Kenny grumbled, snatching a handful of popcorn before they left and chewing aggressively. Nonetheless, he didn’t complain when the kids sat down in front of them to watch the show. 

Uri couldn’t hold back the grin that crept onto his face. 

Glaring daggers, Kenny snapped, “Shut the fuck up.” But that just made Uri grin even harder. “Fuck you and your whore mother.” 

Kenny staunchly ignored him through the juggling act, apart from a harrumph and a snide, “Bet he couldn’t do that with real knives.” His mood, however, picked up again at the emergence of the infamously terrible Icktar the Idiot. His gripes went from “This is stupid” to “What a moron” to “I hope that cart collapses on him and his intestines get chewed up by that shitty dog” to a sudden peal of laughter when the Idiot took a pratfall into a mound of horse manure. 

“Easily amused,” Uri muttered, wrinkling his nose at the smell but Kenny just continued to roar with laughter as Icktar struggled to escape from the mound, and in the process, smeared even more on himself. 

“You don’t find this hilarious?” Kenny asked incredulously. “It’s a guy swimming in shit.”

Uri worked his mouth but Kenny’s expression was so earnest that nothing Uri could think of seemed adequate. In the end, he just said, “Well, I’ll know to obtain your next birthday present from the city stables, then.” 

Kenny grinned cheerfully at the look of disgust, but nonetheless pulled him out of the tent when Uri’s face started going green from the stench. 

“Admit it, the smell was starting to get to you too,” Uri said as they left the carnival and descended to the main street, dancing around the rushing pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages. The pleasant, mellow buzz from the alcohol was starting to wear off, and compared to the noise and chaos of the carnival, the streets leading into the centre of Mitras were sedate and orderly. Wooden and plaster, brown and white, apartments lined the streets with stores on the street level hawking various wares and produce.

“The smell was the least of my concerns,” said Kenny, peering absently into the store windows as they passed, his gaze lingering whenever he saw something shiny. “It always smells like that in the Underground.”

“Is that where — I mean—”

“Is that where I live? Yeah. Nowhere else I could afford. But wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

That was hard to believe. “A house in the countryside?” Uri prompted casually. 

Kenny pulled a face. “With pigs and chickens for company, you mean? Not a pub or brothel in sight?”

“You say that but I’m sure given the opportunity, anyone from the Underground would jump at the chance.”

“Not me, I’ve got everything I need and want down there.”

Uri observed Kenny from the corner of his eye. There was something intriguing about the way Kenny swaggered whenever there were others around to watch, then strolled quite normally when the streets were empty. At that moment, Kenny was practically slinking down the street with feline pleasure, his hands idle in his pockets, reminiscent of a nobleman surveying his rural estate.

“You’re king of your own little world, you mean,” Uri said suddenly in realisation.

There was a minute shift in Kenny’s expression. “Little cottage with a fence and a vegetable garden. Some chubby wife to chase after my shitty kids. Toiling the soil for my supper. Putting on my best clothes for the Wallist prayer groups.” A sneer came over Kenny’s face. “I can’t think of anything worse.” 

“You’d look fetching in the robes, I’m sure.”

“Are you trying to convert me?”

“Not at all. I’m just saying that there is a lot of cake and tea after the sermons. The ladies often try to outdo each other, so if you’d like a tiered cherry meringue cake, you should come along and meet the Three Goddesses.”

Frowning, Kenny paused in his steps to glance at Uri. “Is that your sarcastic voice?”

“It’s my perfectly normal, completely rational voice,” Uri said in a measured voice, trying not to smile. “What I’m saying is, people have always wanted to put their faith in something other than themselves. Want to believe in a higher power.”

“Something that they can blame when shit goes wrong, you mean? Because they don’t want to face up to the cruel truth that maybe they fucked up or that the world is just a fucked up place to begin with.” Kenny gave a short bark of laughter. “How do you play into it? So you’re a titan. What does that even mean? Every now and then you go rampaging on a full moon and eat a couple of people?”

“It’s not that,” Uri sighed, tiredly. “I’m different. Like you’re different. We have certain roles to play out; a kind of destiny that needs to be fulfilled.”

“So our futures will never be what we want them to be? Everything is pre-ordained — by who? That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not saying that you’re not in control of your own future. That’s the last thing I’m saying. Just that certain things that must happen will happen and that’s fact. It’s nothing that I can change either.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“Kenny…”

“No! Look, despite what I said earlier, I’m not gonna die in the fucking Underground as a petty criminal. This is just a temporary gig, okay? I’m not gonna be whatever you say that I have to be — everything I’ve achieved until now has been with my own two hands.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that! I’ve upset you — I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject.”

Kenny looked like he wanted to say more but with a shake and a growl, he fell silent and continued down the street, his heels dragging a little more than they used to. He aimed a half-hearted kick at a fatted dog scrounging in the gutter for scraps, missing by a large margin. 

“We’ll write you a new future. A better one. One that you’ll be proud of.”

“This sounds alarmingly like Wallist propaganda.”

“It’s not. Look, I’m not even a Wallist.”

“You’re the head of the fucking church!”

“No, I’m not. I don’t exist within it, not really. Conceptually, maybe, but — I don’t want to argue about this.”

“If you wish to know what the future holds, there are some Gifted with the ability to delve beyond the fabric of time and glimpse into the unknown…”

They turned. Sitting by the side of the road was an elderly woman swathed in a thick cloak that speckled with a thousand stars. A crescent was tattooed at her temple. She had dark lashes, her eyes so dark they were almost completely black, like staring into a mine pit. 

“And I suppose you are one of the Gifted?” Kenny smirked. 

“This one is wise beyond his years.”

Kenny’s mouth split into a grin. 

“Only those who open their minds to receive the truth are able to comprehend its complexities.” The woman spread a cloth into her lap and held out her hands. Uri burrowed his own hands into his pockets and started to leave, scowling when Kenny tugged him back. 

“No, let’s hear her out. Whoever receives the better future gets to pick where to go next.” For someone who only a moment ago was so incensed by the thought of having a future already known, Kenny was surprisingly enthusiastic about the prospect of consulting a stranger on the topic. 

“You cannot seriously believe — have you forgotten our conversation?” Uri lowered his voice and ground out, “About our futures being pre-determined?”

“Big fucking deal,” Kenny moaned then turned back to the woman. “Yeah, look, you’ve given us the hook. Here’s the dosh. Now, the fortune. Not me — for him.” Kenny jerked his thumb at Uri, who narrowed his eyes in protest. “He’s just dying to know what’s in store.”

The woman beckoned and Uri reluctantly held out his hands, resisting the urge to flinch. Her hands were cold and calloused and rather misshapen, as though something heavy had dropped on them as a child and the bones healed out of place. 

“I see a great, long, prosperous life,” the woman intoned, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull and head dropping back like a ragdoll. “In a beautiful house surrounded by many servants.”

“So, you’re still you, then,” Kenny snickered.

“You will meet the woman of your dreams tonight. However you must pursue her tonight or she will be gone forever…”

Kenny clapped Uri on the back. “Incurable disease? Horrible accident with an anvil?”

“No, just unable to be found again,” muttered the woman, before her voice regained the husky quality. “If you do not seize this opportunity, you will remain alone … forever … and die without legacy or honour.”

Uri snatched his hand back, pivoted sharply on his heel and marched off without a word.

“Whoa, hey!” Kenny called, jogging to catch up.

People went by serenely, paying them little attention; women making purchases for that night’s supper, kids bickering in the street, elderly folk sharing the latest local news. Uri ignored them all with clenched teeth, stalking through the outer ring of residential apartments and businesses, toward the heart of the Capital. 

Behind him, Kenny kept pace easily. “Uri, relax,” he said again when they left behind the hustle and bustle. The streets widened and two flanks of trees burst from the ground on either side, leading to the inner district of public buildings, administrative and government offices and the Royal grounds. “What’s wrong with eternal marital bliss and a hundred punk children to run around after?”

“It’s pure garbage. Pure misleading drivel,” said Uri finally. 

“Honestly, Uri, slow down. Relax.”

“It’s dishonest. It’s wicked and it’s cruel to tell people one thing, knowing that it’s unlikely to come true.”

“It’s not done maliciously, you know. Here, sit down.”

Uri sat on a garden bench, feeling foolish for being scolded like a child. 

“She’s not doing it because she wants to trick you. She does it because she’s an old woman who can’t work anymore, probably couldn’t do any sort of manual labour anyway considering her injuries. Of course she’s lying! What kind of fucking moron would believe it! But for fuck’s sake, there are worse things to spend your money on than feeding a poor woman living on the streets. Look at this ugly garden, for instance.”

“It’s the botanical garden.”

“Whatever it is, it’s ugly and pointless and probably costs more than the entire Underground earns in a year and somehow this is completely justifiable?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s beautiful so that makes it okay?”

“I never said that. Just that it’s beautiful and it’s soothing and it’s for everyone to enjoy.”

“How many poor people do you see enjoying this? They’re too busy trying to earn a living.”

Uri stood, sighing, and started walking along the paths again, this time at a more steady pace. “This garden was built by my grandfather.”

“With his own hands?”

“You’re being mean. It was commissioned by my grandfather,” he amended, looking out at the rows of pristine flowers standing to attention like soldiers on parade. The soft pastels of their petals blurred together harmoniously as the sun cast down a warm, golden glow. Without needing to glance at Kenny for confirmation, Uri knew it was all rather unimpressive for his companion. What surprised him was that he found this knowledge rather sad. 

“He had passed by the time I was born so this is the only way in which I can know him,” he said quietly, suddenly wanting Kenny to understand the significance. “Sometimes it feels as though he’s speaking to me through the flowers and trees, the shape of the footpaths, like he’s guiding me though life itself. You think I’m crazy but what if it’s true? The way the entrance is so full of colour but changes into these darker, more practical varieties … gets sparser, more barren the further in you go. It’s like life itself, don’t you think?”

“I think you need a lot of time of your hands to get to the point where you start believing that you can read patterns and meaning in a bunch of flowers.”

“Well, people prescribe meaning to things to make themselves feel better, to give worth to things that are inherently without much utility.” He glanced up at Kenny’s hat. “What is this hat, anyway? It’s valuable to you because it keeps your head warm, keeps the sun out of your eyes, and I suppose you consider it attractive … in some way.”

Kenny narrowed his eyes.

“But to a horse,” Uri continued, undaunted. “It’s completely without meaning and without value. The only way in which it could be interesting to the horse would be if it was full of oats.” He watched as a young couple disappeared into the Maze of Love, a series of man-sized hedges with a lot of giggling from within. “If we don’t assign meaning to anything then ultimately nothing should upset us. But then again, nothing could make us happy either.” 

Uri continued down the path towards the centre of the park. Right in the middle was a grand building, periwinkle blue facade with a gilded diamond pattern gleaming golden in the afternoon sun, elegantly curved double-storey arches holding up a balcony on the top, its columns entwined with flowering vines.

“Who lives there? Must be pretty rich.”

“No-one lives there. It’s the Gardenhouse. A restaurant,” Uri clarified at Kenny’s dubious expression. 

“Great, I could eat.”

“Goodness, no! It’s for ladies. You know, to order food but refuse to eat it in case they put on weight.”

“That’s the stupidest past time I’ve ever heard of.”

“Well, they gossip too. To be fair, gossiping is the primary function of these gatherings. The food is secondary.”

“Then shall we gossip?”

“I just said that it’s for women only.”

“Fuck that! I want to be fancy too.”

“Stop being embarrassing, Kenny. I know you think this is really amus— let go of me! — but I’m serious, my reputation — Stop it! — I can’t be seen in that kind of a place. People will talk.”

“Just a second ago you were worrying about the prices of upkeep. This is helping to drum up business for them.”

“So what, you’re going to put on your stripper dress now?”

“Hey, don’t knock the silk until you’ve tried it. Now come on. You know that you want to. We’re entering the forbidden den of mysteries!” Kenny declared, marching up the shallow stone steps that led to the entrance. He strong-armed a mortified Uri to the host standing to attention at the entrance. Fine classical music radiated from within. 

“We gentlemen shall have cake and gossip.”

The host took in Kenny’s filthy trench coat, still stained with blood and crusted with old mud, the worn boots with scuffed toes, the leather trousers creased and worn until they were supple like butter and clung to Kenny’s thighs somewhat obscenely as he continued into the restaurant regardless. 

“Sir!” the host called out alarmed, but Kenny ignored him. “My Lord!” The host turned back to Uri. “Sir, if this vile man has abducted you, I shall call for the Military Police immediately.”

“There’s no need—”

“Please, I understand that you may be under instruction not to speak — a mere blink of the eye shall suffice! Thomas, fetch the Military Police!”

“I insist that you refrain!” Kenny trilled loudly in a surprisingly authentic imitation of an aristocratic accent. 

“This man is my guest,” Uri admitted, giving the host a contrite, placating smile. “I am here freely — with my friend, who is a … gentleman. I will vouch for him. You have my word. Please.”

They were eventually led up the staircase to the balcony, which had a sprawling view of the entire park. Kenny jumped into the seat gleefully. Uri, carefully avoiding the gaze of the other patrons, followed at a more reserved pace. He ordered for the both of them as Kenny squirmed to get a good look at their surroundings, and for a moment, Uri wondered if that was the same expression he’d worn at the Fairground earlier. 

“Very nice silver,” Kenny commented with a certain gleam in his eye.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Of course not. Your reputation is on the line, after all. And I always take care of my assets.”

A waiter approached with a large porcelain tea set and poured for them. The fragrant aroma of the tea sprang from the cup; light, fresh, more earthy than floral, which Uri figured would be more to Kenny’s tastes. 

“Don’t like tea,” Kenny muttered as he picked up the teacup, which looked child-sized in Kenny’s hands. “Leaf-flavoured hot water.”

“Yes, but what a leaf. A single pound is worth more than the annual salary of our waiter. Each brew is carefully measured with exacting scales and any discrepancies are docked from their wages. It’s that precious.”

“Being expensive isn’t gonna make it taste any better. If anything, it raises expectations and sets you up for disappointment.”

“Only if you’re a pessimist.”

Even though Uri still felt uncomfortable in an establishment frequented entirely by women, there was a familiarity in the orderly way the waiters approached unobtrusively and melted away again with professional calm, the neat table setting, and the hushed, tinkering tones from the other patrons. It was almost relaxing, and Uri relished in the atmosphere of it, in the exact opposite way that Kenny remained stiff-backed, tense-shouldered and hyper-vigilant. 

An assortment of food arrived on a tiered stand. Uri wasn’t normally one to enjoy delicate finger foods but he had to admit that the spread was impressive. 

Kenny, on the other hand, was shaking with fury. “Aren’t we good enough to warrant proper portions? What, don’t I look like I can afford it?! Hey you!”

The waiter, to his credit, appeared by the table rather promptly despite being beckoned by a threatening fist. “These cakes are for children!”

“Sir — these are all—”

“Kenny,” Uri cut in loudly, putting his hand on Kenny’s arm. “They’re supposed to be small. Everyone gets small servings. Honestly, look around. They’re bite-sized. Lady-sized.”

Kenny narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, you can hardly eat three full slices of cake, a tart, a jelly, two scones and three sandwiches at three o’clock in the afternoon, can you?” Uri picked up the miniature lemon tart. It was firm, the curd creamy and sharp. It had bite. 

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Kenny, backing down and shooing the waiter away. “This is the most idiotic thing—”

“I did mention.”

“You mentioned nothing about the cakes being tiny. This is literally one bite. Half a bite, in fact.”

“That is the point.”

“I just want to reiterate—” he said in between a mouthful of fruit cake, “That rich people are all fucking mental. Having said that, excellent taste.”

“Chew! And enjoy it. Slowly.”

But Uri’s half-hearted attempt at chastisement was met only with another munch and a moan of appreciation. 

“How is this so good?”

“I don’t know. Anything made in miniature naturally tastes twice as good. It’s a universal truth, like, I don’t know, suckling pig.”

“Baby lambs.”

“Veal.”

“Fuck, now I’m even more hungry than before.”

It was hard to ignore the pointed stares of the other patrons, the way they spoke behind their hands and nodded in furious agreement with one another. Kenny glared back at them, then made a big show of leaning on his chair and hooking his hands together behind his head, yawning widely. It was sort of endearing. Uri wanted to needle in a little jab about how the shoe was now on the other foot, with Kenny the one bothered by the opinions of others, but in the end he didn’t say anything — just offered Kenny another piece of cake, a colourful one that was made up of different coloured squares arranged like a chessboard in the middle. 

“I don’t get it. If you get a tiny amount to eat for dinner, it’s so disappointing, but this actually, yeah, feels a bit different.”

Uri moved onto the savoury selection. “If you imagine that it’s the best meal in the world, so exclusive that only a select few may have a tiny morsel each, perhaps what would change your perception. I mean, why is it that something can taste really good to one person but absolutely foul to another? It’s the same thing, right? Objectively composed of the same ingredients and yet there’s a discrepancy between the reactions to it. And the only thing that’s different are the people tasting it.”

“Maybe one of them has fucked up taste buds.”

“Or maybe they were haunted by recurring nightmares of being chased by a slice of cake. Who knows? The point is, everything is formulated in the mind. How do I know that this egg and cress sandwich is fresh? Obviously sometime in the past I must have had one that wasn’t as good, that was also known to be stale so now I can compare the two and make a judgement on it.”

“Yeah but that relies on you having past experiences. What if you don’t have anything to compare it to? Like, all you’ve ever known has been horrible so that you don’t even think it’s horrible, it just _is_. Does that make it all right to continue to live a horrible life?”

“Doesn’t make it acceptable, of course. You know, I used to think that everyone lived in a house in the countryside and that it was completely normal to have servants and animals and three meals a day. I believed this for a long time because my parents never let us go very far in case something happened.”

“And they’d have to start again with a new kid for the bloodline.”

“I’d like to imagine it had something to do with natural love and affection from a parent to a child but I suspect you’re not too far from the actual truth.”

“So you got the shock of your life to realise the vast majority of folks don’t have anywhere near as much affluence and privilege as you.”

“Somewhat. But all the things that I used to think were bothersome, like having to eat everything on my plate, or having to take a bath all the time, even choosing which pair of shoes to wear — after I learnt the truth, these everyday activities were no longer chores and I actually enjoyed doing them. I mean, it was still exactly the same act but it wasn’t either. For a while anyway. Then they returned to being a chore. You have a bit of—” Uri gestured vaguely to Kenny’s mouth. 

Kenny wiped at it with the back of his increasingly dirty sleeve. “There is no way of eating this delicately. Even if it is bite-sized. The stupid thing oozes everywhere.”

“That would be the ‘paste’ element of fish paste.”

“How do you even know that this is fish? I don’t see any eyes or fins or tail.”

“Thankfully. I’m not sure it would be as appetising if it did have a pair of eyes poking out from between the slices of bread.”

“You know how the inside of eyeballs is that liquid stuff? I’ve always wondered why people don’t turn that into jelly. Seriously, don’t look at me like that. People boil pig trotters to make jelly. How is that less disgusting? There must be so many eyeballs going to waste. And I’m sure the lens is chewy too — soak it in sugar water and it’d be a great hit as confectionary.”

“But it’d be eyeball!”

“Well, you wouldn’t call it eyeball but something benign. I’m merely considering all the options. Waste not, want not. If you convinced these ladies here that it was the most fashionable treat, it would catch on. Might even spice this place up a little; daring and at the cutting edge of creative, innovative haute cuisine.”

“A complete menu re-haul — offal as delicacy.”

“First order of business: instead of sitting on chairs, everyone sits on the table and eats off the chairs. Fuck things up. Tear down these hideous paintings.”

“Now, that’s going too far. These paintings are exemplary examples of modern art.”

“They’re a visual depiction of the slavery of the lower class.”

“It’s a maiden playing with a dog.”

“Exactly! What kind of person has the luxury to romp about all day with a dog — an extravagant waste of resources, by the way — but some rich girl without a care regarding her next meal! This painting is practically spitting on the working class. Plus, it’s ugly because well, it’s fucking ugly.”

“It has artistic flare.”

“I’ve had shits with more artistic flare. This is literally causing me actual pain having to look at it for any longer than necessary.” Kenny grimaced, draining the rest of his tea. “I don’t even know what I’m eating anymore. It’s just the same mush. Let’s go before the food starts eating me.”

Uri paid for the meal while Kenny strolled out to the front, stuck his hands into his pocket as he waited. When Uri emerged, they went down a different path from the one they took earlier. There were fewer people around although it was no less beautiful. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Finally, something practical.”

They had stopped in front of a gate that led to an immaculate orchard. 

“These are the Royal Orchards.”

“Well shit, if only I were in the company of the king.” Kenny grinned, marching up to the gate where two guards promptly pointed their rifles at him. 

“Authorised personnel only.”

They glanced at Uri briefly, deemed him rather unimportant, then turned their attention back on Kenny. “Now scram, sewer rat.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

Hurriedly shoving Kenny aside when he saw the emerging glint of a blade, Uri held out his hands placatingly. “Excuse us,” he said in his most respectful voice. “My apologies. We’re new to this area.”

“Fucking blind too,” muttered one of the guards, after Uri and Kenny walked away. 

“It’s really not so interesti—Kenny!” hissed Uri, as he saw the heel of Kenny’s boot clear the wall surrounding the Orchard. “What are you— that’s private property!”

“Tough,” called the wall. “Are you coming or what?”

Uri growled in frustration but nonetheless began to climb. He hooked his fingers into the stone wall but it was difficult to find purchase. Jamming the toe of his shoes into the crevices was little better. 

“Why the fuck are you dry-humping the wall?” Perched on the ledge of the wall with the ease of a cat, Kenny peered down upon him.

“Again, I’m not in the habit of scaling walls and breaking into other people’s property.” 

He took Kenny’s proffered hand and hoisted himself up as far as he could, ashamed that Kenny still had to essentially haul him up to the top. Uri clutched onto the ledge, straddling it, hands shaking from the surge of adrenaline. He panted, laughing softly, and rested against Kenny for a moment to catch his breath and steady himself. “Really more of the Getting Invited In type.”

“Much less thrilling though, right?”

Kenny winked at him and something within Uri’s chest leapt for a moment. Then Kenny hopped off the ledge onto the orchard grounds and landed perfectly balanced on both feet. Uri jumped — tumbled, really — and was caught by a pair of surprisingly strong and gentle arms, and then shoved gracelessly into the dirt with a “ha!” and a sneer.

Uri spat out a mouth of grass with a grimace and scrambled to his feet, irritably brushing off the litter. 

“Ah … peace and quiet!” Kenny said, flinging out his arms as though to embrace said peace and quiet as friends. “Isn’t this so much better?”

“You’re only enjoying this so much because it’s forbidden.”

“Got me all sussed out, huh? Is there anything forbidden that isn’t made all the more enjoyable by the fact that it is in fact forbidden?”

“That would depend on your definition of the term enjoyable.”

“The pleasure derived from doing this—” Kenny plucked an apple from the nearest tree as they passed by. The leaves rustled as the branch snapped back into place like an emphatic round of applause, punctuated by the crisp crunch when Kenny sunk his teeth into the apple. 

“How can you still be hungry?”

“Never say no to free food.”

“It’s not exactly free though, is it?”

“No-one is gonna miss one tiny—”

“ _Hey! You two aren’t supposed to be here!_ ”

They glanced at each other, Kenny completely immune to the look of exasperated consternation on Uri’s face, and bolted from the approaching guard. 

“Split up,” Kenny called over his shoulder. 

“No! There are two of them!”

“Exactly! It’s easier to take out one at a time than both.”

“I don’t intend to take anyone out!”

“Then what the fuck was the point in teaching you how to throw a punch?” Kenny hollered back before banking a sharp right and racing to the other end of the orchard with one of the guards in tow. 

“Get back here!” Uri groaned, glancing behind him and seeing that the remaining guard was still in pursuit and gaining. There was nothing for it. Uri dropped abruptly to the ground in a horribly executed roll. 

“What the—?” The guard’s eyes widened as he tried to stop but inertia drove him forward. 

Uri kicked up at the guard as he went by, sending the guard sprawling for about half a second, then the guard jumped to his feet and darted in to snatch Uri by the back of his robes. Uri clawed at the grip with his fingernails, twisted around and aimed another low kick to the shin. The guard let go for a moment, just enough for Uri to draw his fist back and throw it in the guard’s general direction. It collided with something soft — more like a brush, really. 

He stumbled — embarrassing — and scrabbled to right himself again, one knee digging into the dirt, both hands in free-fall. His face slammed into the ground from the force of a heavy boot on his back. He spat. Again. 

The guard yanked him to his feet. 

“Thanks,” Uri panted, then punched at the guard, throwing his entire weight into it, and felt his fist collide with something solid. Knuckle-breakingly solid. The guard went down and Uri sucked in a lungful of air through clenched teeth, clutching at his fist. 

“Not bad. Next time, don’t piss about with scratching the guy’s face off. You’re not a fucking cat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Uri muttered, sprinting alongside Kenny, irritated that this was more exercise than he’d intended on doing. His thighs were starting to burn. 

They made for the wall of the orchard. Kenny reached it first, cupped his hands and dropped to a half-crouch. Uri jumped into Kenny’s hands, was hoisted up and over the ledge in a single movement. Kenny followed swiftly after him, groaning, “Oh shit,” before he’d even hit the ground. 

They came face to face with half a dozen guards and a soldier from the Military Police. 

“You’re under arrest, Kenny Ackerman, for abduction, assault and battery, and trespassing. Apprehend him!” commanded the Military Police officer and the guards took hold of Kenny’s arms. 

Baring his teeth at the guards, Kenny snarled wordlessly, then gave a pleased smirk when two of them shifted uneasily. “The cells at the MP headquarters ain’t much of a challenge,” he spat. Then he turned to Uri. “Why the fuck d’you hafta be so shit at running?”

“Master Reiss!” said the officer. “Sir, are you all right? We received reports from the Gardenhouse that you had been taken hostage by a thug. Please, step away. We have a carriage that will transport you home safely. And I assure you, this criminal will be duly punished!”

“Hostage!” Kenny scoffed. 

Uri moved in front of Kenny. “No, officer, there is all a big mistake.”

“Sir, you’re safe now.”

“Listen to me! This man undoubtedly has a _colourful_ history however that is precisely the reason why he is in my company.” 

A perplexed silence descended. 

“I have been personally directed by the King himself to secure this orchard against intruders intent on pilfering from His Majesty’s most treasured fruit!”

“I haven’t heard of this…”

“Of course not! The purpose of this exercise was a demonstration of a simulated theft in order to evaluate your responses and ability to control the situation. My apologies to your colleague — I think I hit him rather hard — however it was imperative to keep up the act. Now, I am of course aware that Mister Ackerman is vastly skilled in the art of evasion (which is why I commissioned him for the task, after all) therefore I shall show leniency toward your collective inability to capture him, and indeed, the shockingly poor measures to prevent theft. I am certain that had I not been present to hinder him, Mister Ackerman would be long gone.” 

He smiled brightly at the guards, clapping together his hands. “Now that the matter has been resolved, I humbly request that you release this man, this _servant_ of the King—” A swift jab to Kenny’s foot, “—and return to your regular duties.”

“Just use your fucking mind control next time,” Kenny ground out when the guards and Military Police officer eventually peeled away. 

“Not enough time. Besides, that was relatively straightforward, I think.”

“It would have been easier just to take them out.”

“It would have been easier just to admire the Orchard from the gate!”

“If that’s how we’re gonna play it, we might as well go all the back to your shitty non-existent Not Getting Mugged skills!”

“Should have just agreed to help Rod with the blasted geraniums,” Uri muttered, as they retreated back toward the outer districts. 

They passed a bakery where the aroma of fresh bread drew a steady line of eager mouths and a tray of hot rolls straight from the oven fogged up the window display, and turned down a narrow side street flanked by colossal apartments. In the shadow of the sinking sun, the air cooled. There was only enough room to walk four abreast. The occasional pedestrian sidled past, bumping hips and elbows with various pieces of equipment, picking over cracked pavement with small green mosses growing between the crevices. A lone potted flower struggled to find sunlight by the freshly limewashed steps as the blur of a cat slunk past.

“The look on your face when that guard went down!” Kenny crowed, eyes crinkled with mirth. “Like you couldn’t believe it actually worked!”

“It’s the first time I’ve had to defend myself properly, as a human, I mean. Obviously I have knowledge of the mechanics but putting them into practice is another thing entirely. Very generous of you to stand by and watch, by the way. Was my humiliation as entertaining the second time around?”

“It looked as though you had it under control,” said Kenny, which in his language was probably a vast compliment. “Well, you got the job done anyway, which is what matters. It’s not like there’s a special art form to it or anything.”

They emerged at the end of the row to an open courtyard. A few young children were giggling, playing, as their mothers took in the laundry. 

“Look, sometimes you just have to do whatever you need to do to stay alive. That’s all that really matters in the end. None of this noble bullshit. It’s the breathing and eating and fucking and shitting that makes up this cosmic joke called life — so it’s stupid to beat yourself up about it.” 

Kenny’s voice trailed off as he eyed a scruffy-looking young man approaching with furtive steps. In his hands, the scamp held something. Kenny’s hand automatically went to his knife although he didn’t draw it. 

“Good afternoon, sirs,” said the young man. “I couldn’t help but notice what a fine pair of companions you make.”

“What the fuck are you implying?” Kenny demanded, taking a step toward the young man, using his height to an advantage. The young man recoiled.

“Nothing untoward!” he said hurriedly. “Only that I am an artist, you see, trained in the art of noticing such things. When I saw you walking together, you made such a striking image that I couldn’t help but capture it immediately. Here, look!” 

The artist revealed the object in his hand — it was certainly roughly sketched but the figures were recognisable: Kenny’s lean, tall, rangy figure craning his head to say something to Uri, who was swimming in his robes, thin wrists poking out of the loose sleeves to gesticulate.

“My nose is not that big,” Kenny grumbled. “And I look like a forty year old.”

“Impressive,” Uri said over the top of him. “He’s really captured your likeness in accurate detail.”

“Oi!”

“Even this permanent sour expression! I think this young man deserves something for his efforts.”

“You’re joking. This kid needs to go back to his crayons.”

But Uri smiled at the artist and handed over some compensation. “If it’s not too much of an ask, could you draw a portrait of my friend here? Just him.”

“No!” Kenny screeched, whirling to turn his back to them. “Absolutely not!”

“Come on, Kenny. It’s not so embarrassing. I’ll bet you’ve never had your portrait taken before.” Uri nodded in encouragement to the artist, who grinned and immediately put his charcoal to paper with gusto, making frantic movements with deft fingers. 

“I have.”

“Mugshots for Wanted posters don’t count.”

“That’s just as well because those definitely don’t look anything like me. They always draw my mouth too big.”

Uri pressed his lips together and hummed, the edges of his mouth quirking. 

“Say it, I dare you.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Kenny’s eyes narrowed. He harrumphed. “This feels … invasive,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. 

“Like looking into your soul? Don’t worry, I don’t think there’s enough charcoal in the world to depict that.”

“And yours would just be a blank piece of paper!”

Uri chuckled, peering over the artist’s shoulder to see the portrait come to life. “Try not to look quite so pissed off.”

“All right, now you’re pushing it. What’s the point of getting your portrait taken anyway? What does it matter what you look like? It’s what you’ve done with your life that’s worth remembering. If anything, a picture to go with the story would just be a distraction. You’d be so concerned with the fact that someone has a lazy eye or buckteeth or a large mole on their arse that it wouldn’t matter if they were the greatest man alive. They’d always be known as that mole-arsed gimp. If anything, this is hindering my legacy.”

“Yes, they will be so distracted by your immense handsomeness and think such a dashing fellow could not possibly have also been a notorious murderer.”

The artist’s hand slipped for a second. 

“Joking,” said Uri and Kenny simultaneously. 

Uri shrugged when the artist returned to work. “It works both ways. If you’re too attractive, then people focus only on the beauty and none of the achievement.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that, will you?”

“That was low.” 

“If I wasn’t a notorious, uncouth, malicious murderer, I might have retracted that statement.”

Uri conceded the point with a small grin. “Is that something you worry about though? How future generations will think of you?”

“It doesn’t matter how they think of me.”

“Because you’re not so bad, Kenny, as much as it pains me to say that.”

“You’re an idiot, Uri. And I say that unmaliciously. A couple of hours eating cake and you think that makes me reformed? I’ve done some shit and you don’t know the half of it.” Kenny’s look hardened as he fell silent, contemplative, and for a while the only sound was the scratching of charcoal on paper. 

“Finished,” the artist announced quietly, handing over the portrait. 

It depicted Kenny from behind, just a fraction of his face visible as he turned to scowl into the distance. There was the increasingly familiar crease between his eyebrows, the high cheekbones that cut across his face, the thin, curling lips, just a glint of an eye in the shadow of his hat. 

Kenny inspected it with an unreadable expression then thrust it at Uri. “You’ve had your fun. Let’s go.”

“It’s for you, Kenny.”

“I don’t want it. It’s fucking vain.”

Uri paid the artist and rolled up the portrait, then tucked it into Kenny’s trench coat pocket. “Says the man who wears a hat indoors in the Underground.”

They rounded the corner into a quieter part of town. People were still in the streets but mainly minding their own business. Elderly gentlemen sat at street corners chatting and giving completely unwanted advice to the servicemen unloading their wares. There was a low hum of noise, gentle enough that birdsong was layered over it. 

“I like my hat. It makes me feel good. Which is a much better way to derive pleasure than planting geraniums.”

“I prefer snapdragons, actually.”

“What’s sad is that that’s not even a lie, is it?”

Uri grinned.

They paused behind a small gathering of children to watch a confectioner make hard candies in the display of the store. The man skilfully manipulated the warmed sugar into long threads of colour like writhing snakes before chopping it up and flicking the offcuts at the kids. 

Kenny caught one and absently passed it to Uri before moving on. “How pathetic and civilised and dull. You’re the fucking king. How can your life be so completely boring?”

“I can’t die yet,” said Uri, sucking on the candy. “That’s the main problem.”

“Sounds like you can’t do much at all. But you’re a titan! You can crush someone between your fingers! You can wipe memories! How can—”

“How can someone so strong also be so powerless?” Uri gave him a small smile. “Ironic, isn’t it? Are you regretting the pledge you made? I understand if it seems like I don’t live up to expectations.”

“A king is a ruler. A leader. Where exactly are you leading us if all you do all day is fucking gardening and drinking tea?”

As though halted by an invisible hand, Uri paused at a sombre building nestled between a moneylender and a tannery. It was without embellishment and made of assorted bricks, clearly leftovers from several different projects on account of the variegated colours and textures. Only three concentric circles chiselled into the external façade indicated it was an orthodox Wallist church. 

“It’s a little more involved than that. The truth is, being the king isn’t exactly what I thought it would be either. When my father gave us the choice, I volunteered to receive the Power, thinking that I would be strong enough to resist the vision of the First King. Rod was given the task of praying. Knowing what I now know, I fully believe that Rod is the one saddled with the heavier burden.”

They looked up at the spires of the church that tapered to an impossibly thin point like the breaking point of a stretched toffee. It seemed to reach up forever in search for something unknown.

“Some days it feels as though I’ve forgotten how to pray altogether or indeed, know what I’m supposed to pray for, or pray to,” said Uri, stepping over the raised threshold and into the incense-filled chill of the round chapel.

Kenny removed his hat as he entered and tucked it close to his chest. “The Goddesses of the Walls are just a fiction, then?”

“Oh no, the Walls are real.” Uri said this in a way that made it clear the word was capitalised. “The part about the Goddesses … well, they’re representations, anyway, in the sense that much of religion is based on different interpretations of the same thing.” 

A mosaic on the floor depicted the three concentric rings of the Walls in red and ochre clay and polished pieces of glass. In the centre was the alter, where the Goddess Sina looked down upon them with benevolence. On her side was Rose, thoughtful, pensive; and Maria, determined and defiant. Candles littered the space before them like a thousand blinking eyes. 

Uri sat down in the pew and Kenny followed suit. The church was empty but with images of the Goddesses before them, they didn’t feel alone. 

Despite himself, Uri’s voice dropped to a reverent murmur. “Isn’t it funny how people can find so many ways of interpreting the same truth? Sometimes I wonder if my knowledge is also just another version of the truth, and whether I’m supposed to believe it or challenge it. After all, who’s going to judge me but myself?” He smiled humourlessly. “It was only recently that I realised how lonely this knowledge made me, how much it prevents me from ever truly getting to know another person, to be close to something.”

“Yeah but have you tried in the past?”

“The power imbalance is always too great. It wouldn’t be fair.”

A mural of various people joining hands stretched the entire length of the circular wall, so that it seemed as though they were being protected from all around. It made for a rather peculiar feeling, almost like they were also being watched. There was something vaguely unsettling about it. 

“There’s always going to be one person stronger than the other in any sort of relationship. That’s just how things work.”

From the corner of his eye, Uri snuck a quick glance. “That’s something you rely on, isn’t it?”

“Don’t try and analyse me.”

“All right.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching as an old man shuffled to the altar and lit a candle for Maria. Even this deep in the interior, the faithful always prayed to Maria first. The man said a silent prayer, lowered his head in supplication, then left as quietly as he’d come. 

“Are people of the Underground religious?”

“There are certain pockets, yeah. The Wallist priests don’t come down anymore though, so it’s probably a bastardised form of the actual teachings.”

“And you?”

“Well, you’ve just shit on the Goddesses, so…”

“Oh.” Uri reddened. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Relax. I have better things to do than play around in that make-believe bullshit. It’s not like praying ever gets anywhere or serves anyone other than yourself, right?”

“There is a difference between religion and praying. Religion is just another form of politics. It’s powerful enough to make redundant the use of violence. Praying is putting your faith in something other than yourself, a kind of destiny.”

“If you’re the head of the church, then does it mean that when people are praying to a higher being, they’re actually praying to you?”

“I’ve never thought about it like that.”

“What is it about anyway, being king? My grandfather said that the king can alter memories, implant false ones and control the people. So is it part of your grand plan that so many people live in abject poverty, then? That so many are left to starve in the gutter? If you’re so all-powerful, what purpose could it possibly serve to have such deprivation?”

“I’m sorry, Kenny.”

“Can’t tell me, huh? Or won’t?”

“I know it’s a big ask.”

“Faith,” said Kenny, mockingly. 

“Faith,” Uri confirmed. He could see Kenny was beginning to pull away from him and sighed. He picked absently at the hems of his sleeves. 

“I get messages, you see, messages that tell me what to do. Sometimes they get so loud, so intense, that I have to shut myself away from the world because I’m afraid that I’ll start listening to them. Sometimes I wonder — what’s keeping me from just letting go? Before you were talking about your sins but that’s nothing compared to what I’ve done, what I will continue to do, the suffering that will happen as a result.”

Uri’s eyes had taken on a different quality. They were brighter, almost luminous in the gloom of the church, an eerie light that was otherworldly. There was fear and sadness and anger in his gaze, incongruent with the slackness of his face. The words seemed to come from another realm as though he were nothing more than an automaton cranked into choreographed action. 

“This world is damned, Kenny, and your own damnation will soon come too and there is nothing to stop it. Only death awaits you. Only death awaits us all.”

* * *

Kenny swallowed, hard. He could feel the bolus slide uneasily down his throat as the silence resonated between them. It gave him the creeps being surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces painted on the wall.

Suddenly, Uri drew in a sharp breath like a drowned man gasping for air. He pitched forward, burying his face into his hands. His fingers clenched in his hair. He was pale, sweating, trembling. 

“Uri?” Kenny ventured carefully, unsure of whether to move away or come closer. 

Uri said nothing, just tried to steady his breaths. His shoulders were tense and his jaw was clenched rock hard. 

“Hey.”

Eventually, Uri’s hands fell limply into his lap. He slowly lifted his head as though a marionette pulled by a single string. “Sorry. I-I’m still getting used to the … the visions. I know that it’s not a part of me but they feel so real, like I’m no longer in control of my own body. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“Possession?”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it.” Uri forced a tense smile; it looked grotesque coupled with the grim set of his gaze. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, a little embarrassed. 

Kenny couldn’t look away. He’d heard of people who claimed to receive messages before but until that moment had never really believed them. He wondered if Uri was telling the truth — or that he was simply a madman who believed his own delusions but was ultimately caught within the tangles of a corrupted mind. Was he just as mad to so willingly, unquestioningly, accept everything Uri said as truth? If his grandfather hadn’t already told him the same thing on his deathbed, wouldn’t this be incredibly difficult to swallow?

“You think I’m crazy,” Uri said quietly with half a smile. “Sometimes I wonder if I am. I can only know what I know — and that’s that I was turned into a titan by my father and I have the ability to control minds. Everything else … I suppose I’ll never really know since I won’t be around to see it realised.”

He wiped at the damp hair sticking to his forehead and stood up. “What a mess. I should get cleaned up. It’s getting dark and Rod will wonder where I am.”

“It’s not even sundown and you’re ready to call it a day? You fucking pussy. I thought you wanted to learn how to live like the other half. Here’s the secret: the party doesn’t start until after dark.”

“No, I’m all filthy and I must smell simply awful.” Uri tugged at the collar of his robes.

“You smell like roses, princess.”

“Maybe to you but I practice far stricter hygiene routines than you might be accustomed to.”

“You want to fit in, you gotta look a little dirty. You think that I _like_ wearing unwashed clothes? Does anyone?”

Uri’s eyes raked over Kenny’s trench coat, the greasiness of Kenny’s black hair and pulled a face. “That’s not a convincing argument.”

“Fine, we’ll go and wash up. There’s a bathhouse nearby.” Kenny tossed a coin into the collection basket on his way out. 

“I am not frequenting a public bathhouse.”

“It’s not one of the seedy ones. It’s an actual place to bathe.”

“No, you misunderstand me. I don’t care what kind of bathhouse it is but I do not participate in public bathing.”

“Shy? Scared?”

Uri narrowed his eyes. “We are not playing this stupid game again.”

“Oh yes, we are. It is precisely this prudish attitude that leads to repression in the affluent classes, which in turns fuels all the depravity. Society isn’t going to collapse just because you see a bit of a tit.”

If anything, Uri looked even more mortified.

“Relax. It’s segregated.”

“Kenny.” Uri ran to catch up and pulled urgently on Kenny’s sleeve. “This doesn’t — I don’t want—”

“The vast majority of people don’t have running water at home. They don’t have private bathrooms. This is perfectly normal for everybody so you’ll learn something and you’ll be nice and clean and we can get back to the important things like drinking. You’ve come so far. Are you really gonna back out now because you’re too embarrassed to get your cock out? No-one’s gonna be looking. Unless _you_ routinely sneak peeks at other people.”

“No!”

“Well, there you go. If it bothers you that much, you can hire someone to hold up a curtain around you to protect your modesty.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not, you idiot!” Kenny rolled his eyes, walking ahead. Uri trailed behind reluctantly. 

It was far from the grandest or largest public bath in the city but it was relatively clean and the prices were all right. They entered the building after paying and receiving their soap and wash rags, and were shown to the wash hall. All the cubicles were located in a single room — just partitions, really, twelve of them in the centre. Each cubicle had a washbasin with lukewarm water, afforded some general semblance of privacy by virtue of a few wooden panels that shielded one from the chest to the knees. 

Kenny took the one opposite the aisle from Uri and began to strip. Once everything was off, he wet his body and began to soap himself. He glanced across the aisle to Uri, who was still in the process of disrobing, albeit with a flushed, embarrassed expression. 

“Is this really your first time in a public bath?”

“No — I’ve visited the baths in Orvud before. They’re a bit different from this though.” His voice muffled briefly as he pulled his shirt over his head. 

“Yeah, I hear they have a big pool shared by everyone.”

“Yes, that’s it. It’s really more a place for relaxing and socialising though, than actually bathing.” He pulled off his undershirt. Not that Kenny was looking or anything.

“Chatting with your mates while your cocks hang out?” Kenny glanced over when Uri didn’t reply. “Eh?”

Uri was looking down at something. At Kenny’s prompt, he lifted his head. His eyes were wide. “I have — I have a bruise,” he said faintly. He took a few steps back, past the partition until his body was in full view. There was undoubtedly a boot-shaped bruise peeking out through the top of his trousers, but that wasn’t what caught Kenny’s attention. 

“Fuck, Uri. You’re fucking ripped,” he uttered before he could help himself. 

Far from being just some skinny bloke with thin skin loosely fitted around undeveloped muscles, Uri was _toned_. He had actual defined muscle, the kind earned only through effort and exercise. Kenny felt almost cheated, betrayed. It didn’t fit his image of Uri at all. 

“What?” Uri flushed and darted back into his cubicle. “Never you mind!”

“Seriously, you look like _that_ under those clothes? Why the fuck do you insist on wearing those stupid clothes twenty times too big for you? Don’t you ever want to get laid? Fuck’s wrong with you.”

“Shut up,” Uri muttered, hurriedly stripping off and beginning to wet himself. 

Kenny laughed in disbelief, scrubbing himself down with the soap and rag. It was only when his skin started blossoming red that he realised he’d been scrubbing rather more vigorously than strictly necessary. “What’s the deal about a stupid bruise? If ever I was bruise-free I’d be surprised.”

“I don’t bruise. You kicked me so hard that even hours later the bruise is still there.”

“Consider it a gift. You’re slowly becoming human. Who would’ve guessed that I’d be the one to bring it out in you.”

“Not funny. What if my powers—?”

“Uri, seriously, one puny bruise does not mean anything. It’s probably just dirt, you filthy dog.”

Uri snickered, which was not the reaction Kenny had been expecting. “Rich coming from you. You still have a giant smudge of dirt between your eyes and you don’t even know it.”

Kenny lathered the soap onto his face. It stung his eyes and he had to blink rapidly to clear it. “And you waited until now to tell me.”

“My gift to you,” Uri smiled innocently. “I understand your point though. Why does everything have to be turned into an occasion? Eating, one of the most basic necessities of life, is practically a celebration. Sleeping also requires special sleeping clothes that no-one sees anyway because your eyes are shut and it’s dark and you’re too asleep to appreciate it anyway. And now bathing’s a social activity.” Uri’s head ducked behind the panel again, his voice taking on a distracted quality. “There’s so much ritual in the world. Needless ritual. And for what?”

“Well, I mean, if you don’t think about those things, indulge in the trivial, frivolous things, all that’s left to think about is death, right?”

Kenny’s soapy hand took hold of his cock, giving it a few tugs out of habit before cleaning. Normally it would have responded at least to half-mast but today it remained limp and somewhat sad. He moved on. 

“The problem with thinking about sex is that it inevitably leads to wanting it, and it has an annoying way of overpowering every other need in its urgency. So that’s why people make a big deal out of everything else. Although I have to say, I completely disagree about the special sleep clothes. You have to wear something to bed; it might as well be comfortable.”

Uri didn’t reply. His head was still bent low — only the taut curve of his calves and his feet could be seen behind the panels. Kenny swore he heard a half-choked groan and then a sigh coming from his stall. 

He coloured and turned away. No fucking way. Kenny hurriedly washed his hair to give his hands something to do. He was therefore horrified to find that his cock had chosen that moment to twitch in interest. 

“There’s no rule about having to wear something,” Uri finally replied, in a maddeningly normal voice. He was now rinsing himself off; water splashed down his legs in rivets and onto the floor. Soap suds formed rings on the stone floor, swirling before draining. “It’s nobody’s business what one wears to bed. People should be able to go completely nude if they wish.”

“What if the house caught on fire or you were being robbed or there was an emergency?” Kenny said, proud that his own voice was even. He doused the remaining water on himself, which was by now rather cold, and it seemed to do the trick to ease the erection — although left him shivering. The towel had never before felt so good. 

“How long does it take you to put on some clothes? Surely it’s a matter of only a few seconds. And in the event of an emergency, I’d imagine you’d be even speedier.”

“Well, at least twenty seconds.”

Uri laughed openly. “Didn’t take you for the leisurely type, Kenny!”

“That’s just normal.”

“No, that’s horribly slow. Look, I’ll race you.”

“And if I win?”

“I’ll buy you a bottle of the finest wine from the nearest liquor store.”

“So you’ll buy me a tolerable wine from the local grog shop.”

“Two bottles.”

“You’re on.”

Kenny pulled on the trousers that clung to him in the wet, cursed under his breath when they bunched at the knee. By the time he’d gotten his shirt buttoned, Uri was already stepping out of the cubicle fully dressed, well-groomed, smirking and holding his shoes in one hand. 

“Come on, _princess_ ,” Uri said, sauntering off. 

Cursing again, Kenny hastily threw on the remainder of his clothes and ran after him. They put on their shoes in the reception area. Kenny didn’t feel much different compared to before the shower but Uri looked pleased; his cheeks were slightly flushed, clean, his blond hair darkened with water and slicked back. He looked younger and less stuffy than before. 

“Thank you,” said Uri, as they continued down the lane. “It was a good effort anyway,” he said, entering a liquor store and perusing the various wares for sale. 

Entering behind him, Kenny’s eyes scanned the shelves. After a furtive glance around the otherwise empty store, he reached for the whisky sitting on one of the lower shelves. 

“Don’t,” came Uri’s exasperated warning, and Kenny reluctantly left it alone with a grunt. He straightened when the storekeeper approached. 

“Two bottles of your finest,” said Uri. The storekeeper narrowed his eyes at Kenny, teeth bared and hand creeping under the counter. 

“M’not gonna cause any trouble,” grumbled Kenny, seeing the stock of a rifle resting in the storekeeper’s hands.

“Hah! That will be the day!” The storekeeper exclaimed shrilly — taking out the rifle and aiming it squarely at Kenny’s chest. “Now scram before I sound the alarm for the Military Police!”

“Sir, please, we’re here to purchase some wine, that’s all. I assure you that we can pay.” Uri reached for his purse and pulled out two excessively large denominations and slid them across the counter with one hand, gently tilting the barrel of the rifle with the other so that it now pointed away. He gave his most unassuming smile. 

The storekeeper glanced at the bills, then at Kenny, to Uri, and gradually lowered his rifle, although no less suspiciously. With a grunt, he stowed the rifle and plucked two dusty bottles from the shelf behind him and pushed them across the counter.

“I’m sure you can do better than that.” Uri smiled tightly, barely glancing at the labels. 

Muttering darkly under his breath, the storekeeper left for the backroom. Kenny chose that moment to snag the whiskey, and Uri either pretended not to notice or no longer cared. The storekeeper returned with a wooden crate. Two bottles sat inside, snug amidst the raffia. 

“It will do,” said Uri, taking hold of the crate. “We’ll take those as well,” he added, when the storekeeper started to pack away the previous two bottles. 

“Do you want to kiss their arses any more?” Kenny snorted when they were out of earshot of the store. “These are the slums. Being sweet and polite ain’t gonna get you anywhere.”

“Is that a common occurrence?” Uri asked suddenly with a troubled expression. “The way they treat you?”

“Granted, it’s warranted,” Kenny snorted, patting his pocket that contained the stolen whiskey. 

“It’s utterly disgusting!” Uri exclaimed, his strides quickening. “You shouldn’t have to put up with being treated any differently from anyone else just because, well—”

“Because I’m a known criminal from the Underground? Shit, if I was that storekeeper, I wouldn’t have lowered my weapon at all.”

But Uri remained incensed, his cheeks blotchy red. “It’s unacceptable! You know what? We’re going to go to the finest restaurant Mitras has to offer and you’re going to be treated with respect.”

Kenny placed his hand around Uri’s arm and stopped him in his righteous tracks. “Problem is I’m not hungry.”

“Nonsense! We’ll just order something to drink.”

“No, _stop_ ,” Kenny reeled Uri in, pinning him with a stern expression. “We’ve got something to drink. And — _and_ I’m not interested in going somewhere I’m not welcome just to prove a point. Prove _your_ point. I’m not gonna be your pet project.”

Uri’s mouth thinned into a hard line. 

“C’mon, let’s see how good this wine really is. I know a good spot where we won’t be kicked out by the Military Police for loitering.”

The spot turned out to be along the canals that led to the main storehouses of the Capital. The docks were busy with swollen cargo ships and even with the sky now inky black, the frenzy of activity continued. They sat alongside the canal on the sloped grassy bank and watched the ships pass. On the other side of the canal was a series of taverns and restaurants beginning to fill with the middle class in search for relief and entertainment. They were rowdy sort of places; the sound carried easily across the water, burbling, chattering, laughing. 

Kenny dug out the cork in the wine with his dagger, took a good swill, said, “Not bad at all,” then passed the bottle to Uri. 

Uri wiped the lip of the bottle furtively before taking a sip.

With his legs crossed at the ankle, Kenny snorted and stretched out on the grass. They drank in silence for a while; Kenny staring up at the sky and Uri apparently watching the diners across the canal. 

“If you’re hungry, we can get something.”

Uri looked over his shoulder. “Hmm? No, that’s not what I’m thinking about.” Before Kenny could ask, Uri added, “You must have really hated me for what I’d done, the way you’ve been treated throughout your life. I used to pride myself on being a fair person, morally upright, but it’s not true at all. Drove a man to commit a murder. I’m despicable.” The last part was whispered. 

Kenny could only see the silhouette of Uri’s seated figure against the light from the restaurants. The shoulders sagged. 

“You’re not responsible for the things that I’ve done. I chose to live this way. Put anyone else in my shoes and they might have turned out all right. No-one forced a dagger into my hand and made me take that first pound of flesh. That was entirely my doing. Some people just live shitty lives and that’s not your fault.”

“How can you say that when I perpetuated the prejudice against your family? You should hate me — like you did once. What changed? Because I spared your life?” A soft, humourless laugh fell from Uri’s lips as he wrapped his arms around his knees. “Because I asked for your forgiveness?”

“Because you chose to be weak when you could’ve been strong — and that in itself is strength. Yeah, I’m still pissed off about the way others have spat on the Ackermans throughout the generations, a discrimination that was completely unjustified, but if I hold on to those grudges then I won’t be able to change anything for better or worse. I’m not as educated as you but it’s pretty clear that I’m better off with you as an ally than an enemy. I’m not gonna pass that up just because of pride. Pride gets you fucking nowhere. So just relax and enjoy this moment. We’ve got fuck all to do but get drunk and, well, you have some amazing company. Me, not as much.”

When Uri failed to reply, Kenny sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, Uri. It’s not nearly as bad as you think. Happiness probably isn’t the right term to use but there are moments when — when things are all right, you know?”

“Relatively better?”

“Fuck’s sake, you’re not responsible for me. Besides, this is hardly suffering. Even without the wine, kicking back and watching the stars is positively luxury.”

“Pass me that.” Uri took the bottle off him and look a large, pointed gulp. He stared at the bottle afterwards; it was empty. He muttered something under his breath that might have been a curse but Kenny didn’t catch it. 

Kenny just popped open the next bottle and handed that over instead. 

Uri drank like it was water; it was certainly very easy to drink — far finer than anything Kenny had ever tasted, even the stuff he’d stolen from unattended carriages belonging to wealthy merchants. Smooth in the mouth and settled warmly in the stomach. But in that moment, Kenny wouldn’t have wrestled that bottle away from Uri for anything in the world; it mightn’t have been the solution to whatever plagued Uri’s thoughts but it seemed to smooth away the frown line between his eyebrows. 

“Shame we’re wasting it,” Uri murmured, after he’d nursed the bottle to half-empty, and passed it back to Kenny with a flash of contriteness. “You could have impressed someone with this.”

“Are you implying that I wouldn’t otherwise be able to impress anyone?”

“You’re twisting my words. I mean, you should have saved it for some special occasion.”

“Too late now,” especially with most of it already gone. Fuck, that was quick. Kenny poured more into his mouth without bothering to crane his head. Some of the wine trickled out and ran down his jaw, behind his ear, into his hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, wiping it with a sleeve. He heard chuckling; Uri had twisted around, his eyes glittering and crinkled at the corners. 

“What a mess,” Uri chuckled, taking the bottle as Kenny cleaned himself up. He nodded at the diners in the restaurants opposite the canal. “I wonder if they ever worry about such things.”

“No, they’re probably just trying to pretend that their lives aren’t shitty.” Kenny finally sat up, rolling out the cricks in his neck. “I mean, what’s the point of even dropping so much cash for the sake of a couple of hours entertainment? The food might taste all right for the two seconds it’s in your mouth but it gets turned into shit like everything else in the end. Not like you can save that shit to turn into a trophy.”

“That would be an idea.”

Kenny snorted, jabbing a finger at a particular couple in the window seat across the canal. “Look at how pleased they are just to be able to afford a restaurant. Pleased but embarrassed. It’s probably taken a whole two months to save up that much. This damned city was built for the rich but no-one got the memo that even grand houses need someone to cart the shit from the streets. I hope it’s worth it.”

“It probably gives the meal more meaning,” Uri said amiably. “She’s probably saying: this is absolutely beautiful, how did you know I’ve always wanted to come?”

“Well, darling, I see you looking forlornly at this place every night before you start chugging down those dirty cocks and I thought, better keep you onside before you realise what a horrible bastard I am.”

“That’s so thoughtful! I might just turn down the offers from more respectable types of men who promise to make an honest woman out of me.”

“It’s just as well that you’re still as delusional as the day we met in the backroom of the tavern because if you were a little brighter, you’d probably have run away with them by now.”

“Well, I’m glad that you appreciate me because without me, you’d be lying in a pool of your own filth.”

“My lack of filth is entirely down to you, darling. Cheers.” 

Kenny drank. 

Uri drank. 

Then Kenny drank again. He realised belatedly that it was no longer the excellent stuff — but it was still good, better than the usual, and wine was wine anyway. “Isn’t that the point of getting hitched? Why would anyone expect anything more?”

“It seems to be working out well for Rod. At least he seems happy enough, which is probably what’s important. And the children.”

“Is that what you want?”

Uri laughed. “Is that what _you_ want?”

“Fuck no! Running after some shitty brat is the last thing I want to do.”

“Well, after a while I’d imagine they’d stop running away and instead, the problem is that they don’t want to go, and that makes you feel useful and proud.”

“Proud that you’ve succeeded in doing what humans have been doing for generations? Those poor bastards have no idea what they’re getting themselves into. I take it all back — maybe this kind of bullshit parade is needed to forget how shitty everything else is. I mean, you’re basically paying for a dream world: servants that greet you at the door, pull out your chair for you, call you sir, cook for you, top up your drink for you, even make recommendations for you. Things that people wished they had at home.”

The last bottle awaited him. He considered saving it as Uri had suggested but couldn’t think of an occasion where that might be applicable, and the matter of it bothered him a little so he dug in deep with his dagger and worked out the cork. 

“In reality, it’s probably just the same horrible stew you’ve been chewing on for the past three days, served by a grumpy woman who used to be convincingly happy to see you, to the background music of your neighbours arguing over petty things. But you — well, you already have that kind of a life.”

“That’s not entirely true—”

“Please. I know you have servants. Don’t patronise me by pretending you’ve ever had to wash your own porcelain plates.”

Uri made a face, midway through a long drink of wine, but didn’t refute him. 

“So I wanna know, what do you get out of it?”

“I suppose some just like to be seen spending money, to prove that they have money. It’s all about appearances up here as much as in the Underground, only it’s not so much about physical strength as it is political power.” Uri ran his fingers through his hair, and Kenny suddenly became aware of their unadorned state. In fact, Uri was about as far away from the typical nobleman as one could get, until he ruined it by adding, “Or you could have a terrible cook.”

That startled an incredulous laugh out of Kenny. “Then get another one!”

Uri shrugged helplessly. “Sometimes you can’t because they’ve been in the family for a long time and their family has worked for your family for a long time and it’s just … just not done. It’s a delicate business.”

“So you have to suffer shitty food because you feel bad for someone?”

“Well.” Uri ducked his head, an embarrassed flush to his cheeks. “It’s not really something I’m entirely familiar with. My cook is excellent.”

“You utter bastard,” Kenny spat. “Give me that.”

Thrusting the bottle into Kenny’s chest so hard that it actually hurt, Uri let out a great peal of laughter. “S-she’s especially good at pastries.”

“You don’t even need a wife to cook for you or clean or put up with your filth.”

“No,” Uri admitted, shaking his head. 

“You want one, though?”

The grin slowly slid off Uri’s face as he carefully avoided Kenny’s gaze and instead stared straight across the canal. He shrugged a single, bony shoulder.

“A … mistress?”

“No,” Uri said quietly.

“What do you want then? Everyone wants something.”

Uri’s expression fell solemn. He didn’t say anything for a long time. At the tavern, someone dropped a glass tankard on the floor; a party suddenly roared with laughter. Uri exhaled and turned to face Kenny. His lips parted and his face loomed closer — 

(“Wha—?” Kenny stuttered)

— and kissed Kenny on the mouth, warm, gentle, hesitant. Then there was nothing but the cool air of the night. 

Trembling, Uri turned his back to Kenny once more. His breaths were fast and shallow. 

Kenny didn’t know what to say so just drank more wine, his mind reeling. It wasn’t so uncommon for men to form liaisons with one another — Kenny was knowledgeable about the seedier ways of the world, after all — but _Uri_. Totally ordinary, bordering on boring, prim and proper, covered from head to toe in those stupid priest-like robes, Uri, with such a scandalous predilection?

“Yeah, okay. Guess that explains why you dodged the question earlier.”

Uri remained silent for a while longer, then: “I should go.”

“Why?”

“You’re clearly not—”

“Oh, back to judging me?”

“This isn’t a game, Kenny!” Uri exclaimed angrily, rising to his feet. Humiliation and fear clouded his face; it became clear that up until this point, nothing had really phased Uri, not even the encounter with the Military Police. If Kenny thought back far enough, even being held at gunpoint by a furious murderer intent on revenge hadn’t brought out this much of a reaction in Uri. 

Expelling a frustrated groan, Kenny jumped up and grabbed hold of Uri’s arm. “Just fucking relax! It’s not such a big deal! You’re not the first and you’re not the last, so just…”

“But you don’t want the things that I want.” Even in the dark, Uri’s eyes were fiercely blue as he pinned Kenny with a hard look full of challenge. 

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, do you?”

Kenny faltered. 

Uri sighed and tugged away his arm, absently rubbing where Kenny’s hand had been. Head bowed, he turned to leave. 

“Uri.”

“You don’t need to force yourself.”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Kenny snapped, whirling Uri around. He gripped Uri’s shoulders tight to keep him from moving, or perhaps just to keep his own hands from shaking. “Okay. So I’m gonna try something and I’m _not_ making fun of you, all right, so…” He leaned forward and kissed Uri; it was more a stilted press of the lips than anything, hardly carnal. There was no revelation, no excited surge in his body, just a brief, cool wetness akin to mopping up a trickle of blood from a scratch. “That was all right, I think.”

“That’s the wine talking.”

“When is it ever not the wine talking?” 

And he kissed Uri again without really knowing why. Perhaps simply because Uri was _there_ and not entirely unattractive, and so damned earnest-looking when he blushed — only that it wasn’t like before. A buzzing grew in his ears. His fingers traced the faint stubble along Uri’s jaw, his entirely masculine jaw, felt the firmness of Uri’s body pressed up against him. Uri was all smooth, flat planes countered by sharp angles, hard and unyielding. 

He pulled back and Uri blinked at him, cautious and hesitant. 

“Come on. That wasn’t so bad.” Kenny let go of Uri and returned to the spot by the canal, settling down again on the grass and picking up the bottle. “Now sit the fuck down and get over yourself.”

After a fashion, Uri joined him once more on the bank. He rested his arms on his knees and took a swig of wine when Kenny passed the bottle. 

“So I guess your arrangement with the whole servants thing works out pretty well,” said Kenny in a conversational tone, amazed that his voice remained steady. 

“I suppose it does.”

“And your vow of chastity for the good of humanity is just a lie.”

“An unrepentant lie,” confirmed Uri with a humourless smile. “Cheers.”

Kenny slung his arm around Uri’s narrow shoulders and drew him close. “C’mere, you.”

“Stop making fun of me,” Uri muttered, struggling against the hold. 

“Shut up,” replied Kenny gruffly, tucking Uri’s body into the crook of his arm. The warmth was welcoming against the setting chill and the entire action felt strangely natural.

“Isn’t this all a bit different — I mean, have you ever?”

Kenny’s hand curled into the fabric of Uri’s robes. “No. Yeah, it’s fucking weird but you know what? I’ve never had smoking salmon paste before either so it’s turning out to be a pretty adventurous and educational day.”

After throwing Kenny a quick glance, Uri shuffled a little closer and leaned against Kenny’s side, his head resting against Kenny’s collarbone. “Smoked.”

“Whatever.” With his free hand, Kenny tipped the bottle and drank absently. “Does your brother know?”

Uri’s hair tickled against Kenny’s chin as he shrugged. “Most likely suspects.”

“Never brought anyone home?”

“Far too discreet for that.”

“Shame. Would love to see the look on his face.”

Uri groaned. “Your fixation with Rod is worryingly unhealthy. Perhaps you’d rather it was him right now.”

“Nah, you’ll do,” Kenny replied airily, even as he brushed back a lock of Uri’s blond hair. Their gazes met; Uri’s eyes glittered from the reflection of the moon and the steadily burning lamps from the taverns. 

When the moment dragged, Uri laughed and looked away, embarrassed. “That’s almost a compliment. I’m flattered.” He drank heartily to cover it up, sloshing the wine around in his mouth. 

“Gimme.”

Hesitating for a second, Uri reluctantly brought the bottle to Kenny’s lips. A single, fat drop of wine rolled onto Kenny’s tongue. 

“You absolute shit-eating, pig-fucking, son of a syphilitic whore.”

Uri smirked and a little wine trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Kenny bent down and licked it off Uri’s chin, licked up to Uri’s lips, across them, and finally kissed him hungrily, searching for more wine, more — anything. When Uri’s mouth opened, Kenny plunged in with his tongue, drinking in the last dregs and savouring it with a pleased moan. Or perhaps it was Uri who moaned. It didn’t matter; Kenny wasn’t too concerned with much beyond the immediacy of Uri’s touch, the heat of Uri’s body against his own, the closeness of Uri’s face, the smell of utilitarian, generic soap, the way that Uri seemed to melt against him. 

There was the thunk of the empty wine bottle falling, the swinging chime as it rolled down the grassy slope, the clink when it hit the stone barrier to the canal. Funny how Kenny could note such things with complete clarity but everything else became a hazy blur. 

They broke, panting, breaths rising as mist in the cold. 

Uri swallowed. “I’ll have you know that it was purely consensual with the porcine lovers.”

“You’re a fucking gentleman,” Kenny sniggered, and flopped onto his back. His hat slipped off but it was barely noticeable. He pulled Uri down with him and together they stared up above. At certain angles, it was possible to see the entire stretch of jet black sky without having the view marred by the sight of the towering walls. The stars blinked lazily. 

Shivering lightly, Uri burrowed deeper into the fold of Kenny’s trench coat and huffed. “It smells like blood,” he murmured. 

“It would.”

But Uri didn’t move away. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Kenny’s middle and lay his head upon Kenny’s chest. The weight was heavy like a burning stone. 

Kenny’s stomach dropped. “I’m not some sort of vigilante hero, defending justice and protecting the weak,” he said in a strained voice. “There’s not much good in me, so don’t get too—”

He was cut off by an indignant snort. “Six hours of romping through town isn’t enough for me to fall in love with you. Give me some credit,” said Uri dryly. “And a vigilante hero would be the last thing to capture my interest. Undermining my life’s work.”

“Embracing your dark side, now?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Uri didn’t elaborate and Kenny realised that he probably didn’t want to know either. But the sinking feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it made him feel even worse, like he was slowly being crushed by the bulky pressure of the past. He squirmed, suddenly too hot. When he exhaled, his breath was shaky.

“I once killed a man for a loaf of bread,” Kenny blurted. “And I wasn’t even hungry.”

He felt Uri’s head turn but Kenny remained fixated on staring up at the sky. 

“Why are you telling me this? Funny time to start feeling remorseful.”

“Remorse isn’t something that comes naturally to me.”

“Kenny.” Uri twisted around and propped up onto his elbow, the other arm still slung warmly across Kenny’s chest. He bent close, lips hovering mere inches above Kenny’s. “I don’t care about the things you’ve done. I lost the right to care a long time ago.”

“That’s not the—”

“Then I forgive you. Or whatever it is that you’re looking for, whatever you want me to say.” Uri gave him a plaintive, sincere look that nonetheless felt like a piercing dagger for all that it sliced away whatever layers Kenny had carefully constructed over the years. “If it’s absolution you want—”

“That’s cheating.”

Uri gave him a small smile. “Maybe,” he said quietly before closing the distance between them, his lips falling onto Kenny’s for an impossibly soft and delicate kiss that carried with it the tone of a pseudo-religious experience, a mockery of a blessing. 

It was so gentle, so utterly unlike anything Kenny had ever known, that he wildly wondered if it was even real. His day had been perfectly ordinary until he met Uri … and suddenly he was here, in this mad moment, caught in a dream that was surreptitiously turning into an exhilarating nightmare. Was this the taste of forgiveness? It couldn’t possibly be so sweet, so easy. 

(Pastor Nick, when he wasn’t up to the eyeballs in wine, railed vehemently that forgiveness was something to strive towards, that it took a lifetime of pain and suffering and personal agony to truly know.)

So perhaps Kenny was the biggest cheat of all. 

He pulled back, confused and struck suddenly with dread, only for Uri to shift his full weight onto him and press flush together their bodies. There was undeniable hardness in Uri’s groin that jutted against Kenny, a piercing lust simmering behind half-lidded eyes. 

It would be so _easy_ , Kenny realised, swallowing hard. Then he would be clean and — and free …

“I need a piss,” Kenny announced abruptly and extracted himself from Uri’s embrace, climbing to his feet, lightheaded. He staggered to the edge of the canal and shot a thick hot stream of urine straight into the murky black water, sucking in the air between clenched teeth. 

Across the canal, restaurant guests shouted and pointed at him, then waved with their fists. “Fucking drunks!” was probably the greeting. 

Kenny replied with a two-fingered salute until he saw the predatory leer on the faces of a few Military Police officers, who’d poked their heads out of the window in curiosity. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, hastily tucking himself away as the Military Police gathered their equipment and assembled themselves. “Just can’t fucking get rid of them.”

Behind him, Uri rose to his feet and squinted, frowning. “It’s hardly a capital crime.”

“Yeah, but it’s me, so suddenly it’s paramount to taking a shit on the throne.” Kenny backtracked and swooped to pick up his hat, his insides a tumultuous mess of relief and disappointment. He saw that Uri had started to flick up the hood of his robes. “No, don’t get caught up in this.”

“I can make it stop.” 

Something in the offhand way Uri had spoken gave Kenny pause. He pivoted to face Uri, blinked slowly as the words sunk in, then just … snapped. Before Kenny could even realise what he’d done, Uri was sent stumbling with a forceful shove. 

“No. It will _never_ fucking stop,” he growled, dragging in a harsh breath and jerkily running his hand through his hair. He jammed his hat back on and his eyes were inscrutable once more in its shadow. “Unless you can make people come back from the dead, no-one is going to forget the fact that I’m a murderer. I kill people, Uri. I’m fucking scum. Nothing is gonna change that. Not you. Not your precious powers. It’s not something that you can just _fix_ so get the fuck away from me.”

Uri stared at him for a second, then his eyes narrowed. “Now you listen to me,” he said in a low voice, stepping up to Kenny, eyes burning so bright they were almost violet. He grabbed Kenny by the shoulder; his grip was tight, powerful, the intensity of it like a curse. “I’m with you.”

“You don’t know me,” Kenny spat. 

“I want to,” said Uri in a hard voice. “I want to know every part of you and more.”

Kenny swallowed thickly, his breath caught in his throat. 

No-one had ever wanted to know him before, never bothered to ask about what was happening inside of him, and certainly never fought to stay. There were plenty who tried to cosy up to him in the hopes of receiving protection, or vicarious influence, or to garner favours but he knew, from that single blazing look in Uri’s righteous, infuriated stare, that Uri wanted none of those things. What Uri wanted was a thousand times more dangerous. 

Uri was a fucking fool. A deluded, idiotic, pathetic wretch of a fool to want him. Sad fucking sack. And the worst part was that he was succeeding in tearing Kenny’s world completely asunder without even realising it.

“Fine.”

Their footsteps pounded against the gloom of the emptying streets. Kenny, light-footed, barely needing to glance at the cobblestones; Uri, heavy slaps of his boots giving away their every movement. The streets narrowed like a vice, towering apartments crowding out the moonlight until it was almost pitch-black. Kenny squinted into the dark, reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers along the walls for reassurance. 

The torches of the Military Police drew closer, enough to spill a sliver of flickering light onto the street. Kenny cut through a wider rear alleyway to try and lose the pursuers but there was the familiar click and whir as grappling hooks sunk into the plaster of the buildings around them. A flash of a steel cable shot past his cheek, a short hissing burst of gas burst behind him — _zip_ as the soldiers reeled in at breakneck speed. 

“Fuck! Fuck, here!” 

Kenny darted back onto the main street and down into a flight of stairs that seemed to descend into nothing. He heard a gasp behind him. It was completely dark inside. He held onto the walls as he flew down each step in the tunnel to the Underground. Uri clattered noisily behind, panting, then all of a sudden shrieked. 

A heavy weight fell onto Kenny’s back, knocking the wind out of him. He staggered, twisted, caught Uri just in time before his face smashed into the sharp edge of the steps, then dragged him deeper down the passageway. 

Above, the shouts of the Military Police grew louder, echoing off the walls. 

The steps seemed endless, driving deeper and deeper to the ground. Then, a pinprick of light greeted them. Guards at the entrance to the Underground poised with weapons aimed — until they saw the murderous snarl on Kenny’s face and lowered the rifles again, ushering them through. 

All at once the stench of the Underground hit him: the staleness, the sour tang of fetid air, the heavy pungency of sewerage. Fuck but it was gloriously familiar. Tension began to fade from his shoulders. This was _his_. He knew this place as well as he knew the handle of his own dagger. 

Ragged people crowded the streets, shuffling their way to the nearest tavern to drink away the day’s labour. The wine had left Kenny a little lightheaded but rather than fighting against it, he embraced it as an old friend, embraced the flow of movement and looseness in his limbs. He was swift as the wind, just a passing breeze between the leaves of a tree—

“Ken—” cried out Uri, right before a mighty thud. 

Kenny whirled, saw Uri’s body strewn in the mud, and behind him the Military Police fast gaining with their manoeuvre gear in action. He sprinted back and hefted Uri to his feet. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Uri panted, each breath hot against Kenny’s cheek. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kenny replied, laughing a little, a piece of his heart soaring when Uri cracked a grin. “C’mon.”

Everything from that moment zipped by in a blur — ramshackle buildings with crippled beams, cracked and splintered windows, empty crates toppling over with a musical crash — the only constant was Uri’s hand burning hot in his, like his only connection to the moment, the only thing that was keeping him grounded. 

They merged into the surging crowd, bodies squashing up against them on all sides; sunken faces drained of emotion stared for a split second then averted their gaze, heads down, hearing nothing and seeing nothing. The key to survival was to keep everyone a stranger and not for the first time, Kenny was glad of it. 

A quick glance back showed the Military Police perched high on the rooftops, scanning the mass of people in frustration. 

When the crowd clotted so densely that they could barely move, Kenny pulled Uri into a tavern. 

Inside was rowdy, chaotic, swollen with noise and a hundred stale breaths of crumbling souls crammed within decaying walls. They bypassed the anterior bar and descended into the basement saloon. It was stiflingly hot, awash with roaring chatter and jaunty music from the stage as a beanpole of a man brayed bawdy lyrics to a battered piano. Bodies swarmed the room, clustered around tables, milling in the spaces between. Only the stage was lit up with hanging lamps, which left the room so dark that Kenny saw only brief slivers of faces and the whites of their eyeballs passing by. 

He backed Uri into a shadowed corner, deep behind bulky folds of the curtained walls, against the decrepit render. The musty curtain fell around them, muffling the sound and the remnants of the light. Uri was a mere outline in the gloom. Kenny engulfed him in a rough, desperate, shaky embrace. 

“You fucking idiot,” he laughed, one hand gripping Uri’s chin so tight it was sure to bruise, and lunged at Uri’s mouth, wanting him and needing him in a confusing, devastatingly disastrous way, adrenaline surging through his blood like a poison. His heart was racing. 

Hands fisting in Kenny’s trench coat, Uri matched him just as fiercely, greedily, his mouth wide and eager. He tasted like wine, sweet and sour, and smelled of smoke and ash and grass, and so entirely masculine and powerful that Kenny couldn’t help but inhale a lavish lungful. Uri moaned into his mouth, uncaring about the hundred other people in the room, his hips grinding helplessly.

Kenny groaned, suddenly wanting Uri so badly, wanted to do nothing else but drown in the pleasure of his body. “Fuck, Uri,” he panted. “You taste so fucking good.”

Uri’s hand fumbled down and plunged into Kenny’s trousers, hot and sweaty, bordering on clammy, and so utterly delicious on Kenny’s cock. Kenny gave a strangled shout, hips bucking automatically, grinding into Uri’s hand, desperately seeking more. His head fell, forehead landing on Uri’s shoulder, lips parted, breathing hard. His hands bunched in the front of Uri’s robes, twisting the fabric hard enough to rip. His eyes squeezed shut, hips thrusting frantically—

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Without warning, something smashed straight into him from behind. He landed clumsily, hands and arms and legs everywhere. An elbow dug into his ribs. Uri’s head smacked into Kenny’s jaw. He coughed and spat a mouth of blond hair. 

“What the fuck!”

“Take it elsewhere, boys,” came a voice. Peering through the curtains was a squat barkeeper. 

Kenny’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, his lip curling. 

“Fuck d’you say?” he snarled, straightening. He threw a protective arm around Uri and hauled him behind, then advanced on the barkeep. His hand automatically inched towards his knife. “I asked you a fuckin’ question, shitbag.”

“I said: _take it elsewhere_ ,” the barkeeper repeated, emphatically, unafraid of the murderous glint forming in Kenny’s glare. The man plunged his hand into the front pocket of his grubby apron and withdrew something that flashed metallic. He raised an expectant eyebrow. 

Kenny suddenly barked in laughter, causing Uri to jump. 

“Boss,” Kenny said agreeably, exchanging a handful of crumpled notes into the barkeeper’s outstretched hand. He clapped his hand on Uri’s shoulder, grinning into the perplexed stare. “C’mon.”

“What? Oh. _Oh_.” Uri’s gaze landed on the object dangling between Kenny’s fingers: a key. 

Kenny tipped his hat to obscure his face and together they pushed past the barkeeper, through the curtains and the thick throngs of people in the saloon, back into the depths of raucous music and noise. Stimulation pressed in tight from all sides. Kenny’s head was swimming in the sound and the smell of greasy food, the staleness of ale, the feel of Uri still trembling against him. The folds of his trench coat barely covered the insistent bulge in his trousers as he elbowed his way toward an unobtrusive door marked Staff Only Keep Out. 

They slipped through, found themselves in a narrow staircase, then slammed shut the door. 

“Kenny—”

“Do you want this?” Kenny twisted and pinned Uri to the wall. “Do you fucking want this or not?”

Uri’s gaze darkened with lust. “Let’s go.”

Chest heaving with trepidation as they made the final step, Kenny tumbled onto the landing. He reached for the railing for support as tightness set inside him on every inhalation, an emptiness in his stomach that shuddered as the spindly key cranked in the lock. 

There was a click, a faint squeal of protest, then the door opened to a room bathed in darkness. 

Using only touch, they staggered into the apartment as blind men, feeling across foreign surfaces until Kenny came across the sturdiness of a window frame. He jammed his fingers into the slats and the amber glow from the Underground bleed through in golden threads like a spider’s web, the room springing to life. 

It wasn’t luxurious by any means but it was clean and neat, with corners of the rugs matching and perfectly perpendicular; ordered to the point of obsession, empty to the point of being a tomb. Kenny let out a low whistle in appreciation while Uri stood at the centre of the room, plucking distractedly at the sleeves of his robes. 

A bed sat robustly against the far wall, flanked by chests of drawers that squeaked as Kenny peered within. 

“Empty,” he pronounced, unable to hide the disgruntled tone creeping into his voice.

He heard a low chuckle then felt a pair of arms snake around his waist from behind. Uri rested his warm body against Kenny’s back for a moment then let his hands slide down Kenny’s hips, thumbs stroking slowly, ponderously on the way down. 

Kenny shivered and turned to capture Uri’s lips, drinking in the undeniable heat, sliding his tongue to meet Uri’s. A sensual dance began between them as he drew Uri closer, swaying into the movement. His mind reeled once more, on a dizzying cycle of images of what could be, what would be — desires, things he wanted to do to Uri and things he wanted done to him in return. 

He opened his eyes and saw the stark desire that burned in Uri’s hungry gaze, noticed the faint tremor in Uri’s hands as the man struggled with self-restraint. There was a question that formed on Kenny’s lips but regardless of how he sought to frame it, it felt extraneous. 

“Do you—?” he heard Uri say, those pithy words somehow encompassing the entire world of questions that were racing through his mind. Eloquence seemed to have abandoned them both on the landing. 

Uri’s glance slid to the bed. He drew in a sharp breath. 

“I didn’t bring you here for the view,” said Kenny, huffing softly in laughter before his voice faltered. Until that moment, he hadn’t been entirely certain either. But it was actually happening. 

Suddenly, with the weight of expectation hanging thickly between them, Kenny pushed Uri onto the bed and clambered after, knees digging deep ditches into the thin mattress. His boots thumped against the wooden floor. The hat tumbled off silently. 

Beneath them, the chipper music played on. 

“You wear the stupidest, most impractical clothes,” muttered Kenny, tugging at the fastenings to Uri’s robes and making an absolute hash of it. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Butterfingers,” Uri chuckled and pushed him back. His slim fingers worked the clasps with ease and the robes fell open. Beneath he wore a white lawn shirt, just transparent enough for the dark of his nipples to show, and brown corduroy trousers; so utterly ordinary that Kenny had a sudden desire to shear them with the blade of his knife. “I want to see you too.”

“Yeah,” Kenny murmured distractedly, mesmerised by the morsels of creamy white skin revealed as Uri slid undone each button. “Here, let me—” He placed his hands flat against Uri’s chest, thumbs brushing against the ridge of collarbone, fingers slipping beneath Uri’s gauzy shirt. He pushed the shirt off Uri’s shoulders and it peeled away without resistance; his breath caught in his throat. 

Uri was lean, firm, built like an endurance horse with tight muscles over taut skin, slender limbs and lithe body that appeared to dance with each small movement, the entire world his stage. “Is this all right?” Uri said, uncertainly. 

“More than, yeah,” Kenny uttered, when he remembered how to breathe. With quick, abrupt motions he shrugged out of his trench coat, bunched it and tossed it, and tugged his shirt over his head. “What?”

“Nothing.” But Uri’s lips remained parted, his pupils wide. He stared down the scars that scored Kenny’s chest, the bruises that mottled blue and green. “I mean, you’re stunning.”

Kenny snorted, his face scrunched up in a grimace as Uri reached out to traced the bruises with his fingers. “Just means that I was too fucking slow and got caught or whatever.” He opened his fly and shoved his trousers down his thighs. Sweat had made the leather tacky and it clung to his legs. “Stop staring.”

Uri made a faint noise, then whispered, “Touch me.” And without waiting for a reply, he grabbed Kenny’s hand and pressed it against his side. His skin was searing. Kenny’s fingers fit between the ridges of Uri’s ribs on each inhalation perfectly. 

Their fingers tangled together as Uri leaned in for a kiss, slow and unhurried. With his other hand, Kenny pushed down Uri’s trousers, cupping his arse and feeling the prickle of goosebumps that sprang up. 

Uri let go and encircled his arms around Kenny’s neck. They fell together, chest to chest. Kenny’s hands curled around Uri’s sides. Uri smelled like the smokiness of the tavern, tasted like the sourness of lingering wine, felt exactly like a drunken promise made in the wind. 

Panting, Kenny pulled back to rake his gaze over Uri’s body, pale like milk, white and pink and flawless, every inch of his unblemished skin yielding under the slightest touch. 

“Your bruise is gone,” he said, gruffly.

“Tragic.”

Looking down at where the bruise once sat just above his hip, Uri’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. The minute shift under the parchment thin skin was an act of beauty, like the oiled rolling of a gear. “Plenty of time for more,” he said softly. 

At the junction of Uri’s neck and shoulder was a constellation of freckles begging for attention. Kenny swooped in with his mouth and licked at it with the flat of his tongue, kissed it like a blessing, then sucked at it in wonder as though he might drink in all of Uri’s contradictions. He dropped his hand lower, across Uri’s stomach, across the trail of wiry, golden hair that led even further south. 

Uri moaned, low and deep then gave a faint cry when Kenny gripped him. His face was flushed, a pleading expression knitted between his brows, lips parted hungrily. “W-wait. Lie back,” he said, hands already tangling in Kenny’s trousers. 

Without hesitation, Kenny obeyed, stretching out and lifting his arse off the bed as Uri peeled off his trousers and underpants, gasping as Uri then immediately descended, open-mouthed, on his cock and lavished it with attention. 

“Oh fuck, that’s good,” Kenny moaned, fingers carding through Uri’s dishevelled hair, which crumpled and jutted up at careless angles. 

Uri sucked him until Kenny was gasping, writhing, desperately hard, fighting with every inch of his body not to grind his cock into Uri’s face. It was a kind of madness to be so enthralled by another man; a shiver ran through him as though he were being poisoned with raging lust for the new, the dangerous. The forbidden. Uri added in a heady mix of tongue and spit and lips; licking under the head then over it, sucking along the length.

“Uri, how do you—” he stuttered, voice trailing off when Uri engulfed him whole. His body jerked at the tightness and the heat. “Oh.”

With a pleased smirk, Uri took hold of Kenny’s cock, tighter than Kenny usually did to himself but it felt right, a little raw, wild. Uri squeezed him with every stroke, matching time with his sucking mouth, bobbing his head on the tip. His other hand reached under and cupped at Kenny’s balls, massaging them, tugging at them.

The pressure mounted in Kenny’s groin. He felt that he would burst if he didn’t fuck something, anything. With a growl he pushed away Uri to jerk himself off but Uri stopped him with a surprisingly strong push to the chest. 

“No,” Uri said, a blazing look in his eyes. “Not yet.”

“Please don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Kenny said in a low voice, aching with need, seeking release. He went to shove Uri away but was blocked by a solid forearm, then a swift closed-fist jab to the stomach. He hissed, recoiled, eyes widening for a split second in surprise. 

Uri darted off the bed and kicked off his trousers, his undergarments, then climbed back before Kenny, naked, a fierce determination set in his gaze. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I said _wait_.”

With a growl, Kenny lurched forward and clawed at Uri’s side, yanking him around and then flipped him over. A heavy, strong hand at Uri’s back kept him trapped. Kenny’s other hand went to his cock; he squeezed at it impatiently, rubbing his thumb across the head, groaning. “Not on your life,” he panted as the roaring in his belly intensified, releasing his hold on Uri for just a second.

Uri squirmed and bucked deftly, using his lighter frame to his advantage — and Kenny found himself tumbling onto the other side of the bed. 

“Fuck you,” he spat. 

“You taught me too well, Kenny,” Uri grinned, then yelped as Kenny caught him easily and hauled him in with a single arm around his stomach, and pinned him down once more, sitting on his thighs. 

Kenny wiped at his brow with the bone of his wrist, found himself moist with sweat. “Don’t try that again,” he grunted but Uri shot him a defiant glare in response, writhing underneath, heels kicking into the sheets as he squirmed. The head of his cock jutted against Kenny’s stomach. 

The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. Uri was so _hard_.

Uri’s cock was glorious, engorged with blood and red-purple, springing from him in desperate need. Kenny swallowed thickly, wildly thought that it was fucking beautiful, which under other circumstances would’ve been an absurd thing to even consider about another man’s cock but all that rose at the forefront of his mind was how much he wanted to taste that cock, take it into his mouth. 

He shoved Uri down again roughly, a little superfluous as Uri had stopped struggling, and clamped his mouth over Uri’s cock, sucking as best he could. He groaned at the flavour, meaty and gamey, the taste of come sending a shiver down his spine — he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, but carried on nonetheless, sucking it completely dry. His cheeks hollowed out as he pulled off with a vague sense of satisfaction, although not in a hurry to try it again.

He heard a muffled noise and glanced at Uri, who was smirking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Uri managed, shoulders shaking. “Just — the expression on your face!” And he dissolved into peals of laughter. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

But that just made Uri laugh even harder so Kenny shut him up by kissing him, rough, insistent. The laughing stopped abruptly and turned into moans as Uri opened his mouth, hungrily swiping his tongue against Kenny’s. Far from being repelled by the taste of himself, Uri kissed even more enthusiastically, which Kenny found vain and hilarious and sort of fucked up too. 

He grinned when they broke apart and Uri chuckled, pressing an affectionate, chaste kiss on Kenny’s nose. 

“C’mere, you,” Kenny muttered, curling his arms around Uri’s slender body and rolling him on top. Uri scrambled to sit up but Kenny held him down easily. “Look at you, wriggling about like a worm.”

“Kenny!”

They wrestled again, playfully, erotically, this time with Kenny completely aware of the feeling of Uri’s firm cock brushing against his stomach. Uri laughed in delight, squirming, panting and grinding his hips against Kenny’s and sliding their cocks together. “Like that,” he breathed as precome smeared stickily on their thighs, then rubbed frantically against Kenny again. 

Kenny’s hand plunged between them, taking hold of both cocks and pumping along the lengths. Uri let out a soft whimper, thrusting into his hand, his breathing becoming erratic. His eyes slid closed. “Kenny,” he gasped. “Please, Kenny, I don’t want to p-put pressure on you but if you don’t take me right now I’m afraid I’m going to completely lose it.”

“Oh,” Kenny said faintly, his mind suddenly going blank. His hand stilled. “But you’re a bloke. I mean, you don’t have the right bits—”

“It’s exactly the same,” said Uri in a rush, exasperated, as though the words were causing him pain. He opened his eyes again; his pupils were large, almost eradicating the blue irises, just slivers of a dark slate corona. “You just…just put it in.”

“You make it sound like studding livestock.”

“Please.”

Kenny drew in a sharp breath, still battling against the perplexity that swarmed in his mind, then glanced up and saw the desperate look on Uri’s face. “It’s all right. I’m not a skittish horse about to spook.” 

“I hope so. Here, I’ll — I’ll do it.” 

Uri spat into his own hand and reached behind to rub his fingers against his arsehole. He let out a low, unembarrassed grunt of satisfaction which Kenny realised sounded exactly like the noise he’d made at the bathhouse. “Lie down,” he said again then gripped Kenny’s cock firmly and straddled him. 

The tip of his cock squeezed into Uri’s arse; it was tighter and hotter than he’d thought possible, and so fucking amazing. His mind spun as Uri sank down another searing inch with a long moan, arse clenching as he adjusted to the stretch.

“Uri,” Kenny gasped, unable to stop himself from crooking his legs, knees bent for purchase, and trying to buck into that heat. 

Panting, Uri grunted in frustration and pulled off Kenny’s cock. He cursed under his breath and spat on his fingers again but this time, shoved two of them into his arse and fucked himself, hurried and rushed and impatient. He groaned, digging his fingers in deep, contorting his body as he bent over almost double.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Kenny breathed, grabbing his cock and giving it a tight squeeze to keep the pressure, feeling more turned on than ever. 

Uri face was scrunched up all red and blotchy, wrenched with pleasure and need and hunger, his brow damp with sweat. “Sorry,” Uri stammered, withdrawing his fingers and guiding Kenny’s cock to line up against his hole once more. “I just really wanted you, that’s all. Got a bit carried away.” 

Then he drove himself back onto Kenny’s cock without hesitation, crying out with pleasure. He bore his hips down, sinking deeper than before. His brows knitted together, mouth fallen open. His lips moved but there was no sound, as though he were in silent prayer. 

Kenny thrusted up into the heat, drawing another low-pitched moan from Uri. “Fuck, that’s so fucking good,” Kenny ground out, bucking his hips again just to hear Uri make that sound once more. It was impossible to be even harder than he was but the sight of Uri with his head thrown back, his mouth parted wetly, was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He fucked up into Uri, arse bouncing in frenzied haste, back practically arching off the bed; they moved together, a slapping, slick, fleshy and frantic rhythm, the room stinking of sex and sweat and heat. 

“I want— oh Kenny.” Uri slowed to a stop, heaving to catch his breath. He shot Kenny a brief, embarrassed look. 

“Tell me,” Kenny panted, wrapping his arms around Uri and pulling him in closer. 

Uri tumbled off, landing inelegantly with arms and elbows everywhere, jabbing into the side of Kenny’s face. “Sorry. I just — I want you deep. Deeper.”

“Okay,” said Kenny, and kissed him roughly, hugging Uri’s body tight for a second before rolling them over. Uri lay on his back, Kenny in the space between his thighs. “Like this?”

Uri nodded, crooking his legs at the knee and letting them fall open. It was almost obscene the way he displayed himself. His cock had softened a little, flopping to the side. He reached down and pulled it a few times. More precome dribbled out.

“Fuck,” Kenny breathed as he hovered above Uri, drinking in the magnificent sight. He hooked Uri’s legs up high and wedged in a pillow beneath Uri’s arse, exposing Uri’s even more incredibly inviting arsehole. With a grunt of determination, Kenny shoved his cock in again and Uri took him without resistance, only letting out a long, low moan. Kenny dropped his hands on either side of Uri’s face and fell forward, letting the weight from his hips drive down into Uri with each agonisingly slow thrust.

“Kenny,” Uri cried, his face wrought with pleasure as the sweat dripped a trail down his temple. His eyes flew open and in that split second Kenny saw the brutal lust, savage and otherworldly, like something from an exquisite nightmare. 

Kenny wanted to crush him, mark him. He snapped his hips rhythmically, tearing another throaty groan from Uri, a wild hunger beating ferociously inside. 

Uri writhed, throwing his body against Kenny to meet his every stroke. “Please,” he panted as the pleasure mounted, his breaths short and frenzied. “Ah, Kenny, _please_.”

Grinding desperately against Uri’s body, Kenny lurched forward and captured Uri’s lips in a rough kiss, his mouth drinking in every moan and cry. He felt every shiver, every pulse of energy — he was fucking losing control, unravelling with each thrust — the sheer helplessness of the moment was maddeningly intoxicating as he gladly plunged deeper and deeper. Every barrier he’d constructed splintered in the heat of Uri’s body until there was nothing left but him and Uri, naked and panting and needing.

“Ken— it’s … I’m—” Uri’s feral moan punctuated the air as he shuddered, hand frantically pumping around his cock and spurting thick, hot come onto his stomach.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kenny gasped, slamming into Uri one last time. “Uri, fuck!” His world violently spiralled away as the cannonball of orgasm ripped right through him, tore him to pieces.

He collapsed on the bed, spent and shattered, gulping for breath. “Fuck, Uri,” he wheezed, swallowing hard as his heart fought to steady the hammering inside his chest. 

Uri curled around him, eyes closed, hair plastered to his forehead. He was practically glowing with pleasure and so utterly, utterly beautiful that Kenny suddenly realised was the most damning thing of all. “Kenny,” Uri laughed shakily. “That was — wow.”

As his heartbeat gradually slowed to a steady cadence, Kenny reached out and cupped his hand across the line of Uri’s jaw, along the prickly, growing stubble. “Yeah. Not bad.”

Uri chuckled again, burrowed his face into Kenny’s side, and seemed to instantly drift into sleep. 

On the other hand, Kenny stared up at the cracks in the ceiling and wondered how it was that his life could fuck itself up so badly in the course of just a single day, stared for so long that the cracks began to take on personalities of their own and the music from the tavern below started to repeat itself for the next crowd. 

Staying the night had never been an option. The fact that he remained, still, breathing shallowly so as not to wake Uri, was far more disturbing than the knowledge he’d just fucked the king. 

When it didn’t seem as though life would get any more interesting, he cautiously wriggled along the bed and extracted his knife from his strewn trousers, then returned to Uri’s side. 

In his sleep, Uri curled his hand around Kenny’s thigh. 

Kenny sighed and took out his sharpening stone. His gaze trained on the window as his hands moved. Might as well be productive.

Suffering several rousing renditions of I’ll Climb the Wall (for my ol’ Lass) later, Kenny glanced down, watched as Uri rolled onto his back, blinked blearily then squinted against the darkness. 

“Can’t sleep?”

The streetlights had dimmed but the music continued. An operetta substituted with lewd lyrics soared through the floor boards. The singer might have been lauded by critics if it weren’t for her birthplace in the slums. 

Kenny grunted noncommittally and continued to swipe the blade of his jackknife against the sharpening stone. The raw, gritty sound was rhythmic, practiced. 

Clumsily, Uri reached around Kenny’s stomach and squeezed. 

“I’m in a rent-by-the-hour shithole of a room above a tavern full of thieves and murderers. I don’t know all the exits, who has the spare key to the room or when they’re gonna burst in unannounced, or whether the neighbours are planning on slitting my throat. Of course I can’t fucking sleep.”

Uri shifted, propped himself upon an elbow, exposing the pale milkiness of an angular shoulder. “We could go somewhere else.”

The music was putting Kenny on edge; he wouldn’t be able to detect intruders at the door until it was too late — but he didn’t want to admit this. A few lines of the operetta filtered through the floor boards. He snorted. “Go back to sleep, Uri.”

But Uri was awake now. He stilled, head canted to the side as he listened. “It’s still going?”

“City that never sleeps. Nightfall is when all the action takes place. So many houses to plunder, such little time.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell whether you’re being serious or not. The entertainment really goes on all night, huh. And I slept through that.”

“Usually stops at sunrise,” Kenny conceded. “Believe it or not, some people actually have lives to carry out.”

The singing came to a wailing crescendo that shook the walls and Kenny’s eardrums. A second later, the saloon erupted in applause and shouts for the performer to get her tits out. 

“And you?”

“I have business.”

“All right,” said Uri, in a way that suggested it wasn’t all right, and that he wasn’t satisfied with the answer. 

“It’s relentless,” Kenny admitted, unsure of exactly what he was talking about.

“Because you want it to be?”

“You were right. I’d rather live at the top of the food chain, always looking over my shoulder, than be constantly trodden on with my head down in the mud.” He inspected the blade of the knife, pressed a thumb against it experimentally. “You know, since grandpa died, there’s been nothing tying me to this place. The family’s split. Or dead. Or so deep in hiding that they’d rather be dead than found. And yet here I am. Guess that makes me a fool for sentimentality. As much a creature of habit as the next sucker. Disgusting.”

“It’s easy to become complacent.”

“And you’re here to shake things up a bit?” he said, although not entirely meanly. “Citizenship above ground was all I ever wanted as a kid and yet this old dump is where I feel most at home; this place that chewed me up and spat me out. There’s probably something wrong with me.”

“Depends on whether you want to be a respectable gentleman and trade the fedora for a top hat.”

“Who knows? The lifestyle might suit me. Get into the exports and imports trade. Not so different from now, anyway.”

Uri grinned. “Kenny the Shipper.”

It felt good to laugh. Kenny paused in his sharpening, bent down to land a warm, almost teasing kiss on Uri’s lips. He felt Uri smile and it filled him with a kind of lightness in spirit, like all his bones had melted away. 

He rolled onto Uri. It was startling how familiar the gesture had become, how eagerly he met Uri’s waiting lips. He sagged, knife shoved under the pillow, and rested his head on Uri’s chest. Uri’s fingers raked through his hair. It seemed a kind of madness that Kenny could get pleasure from something as simple as feeling the rise and fall of Uri’s chest. His eyes closed for a second. He was so _comfortable_.

“I’ll take vigil so you can get some rest.”

His eyes opened again. “No.”

“Don't trust me, huh?”

Kenny pressed the tip of his finger into the hollow of Uri’s chest, expression unchanging. “No,” he said again, calmly, then ran light fingers across Uri’s nipple, which hardened almost immediately in response. 

Uri scrambled to sit up but Kenny pushed him back down gently, straddled him, caressed the lines of his body with slow but sure hands. His lips followed, kissing each curve, each plane down along from the side of Uri's throat and across his collarbones, along the dipping sternum, before clamping around his nipple. Kenny's lips puckered as they sucked on the rosy nub, flicking his tongue. Uri cried out, hands automatically reaching for Kenny's head, fingers tangling in the long wave of Kenny's hair. 

Encouraged by Uri’s moans, his writhing, Kenny continued to suck. He wasn’t usually one for foreplay but Uri, sprawled out before him like the pièce de résistance at a grand feast, was far too delectable to relegate to another quick fuck. He took his time in a considered way, patient, almost leisurely, like they had all the time in the world. 

Uri’s eyelashes suddenly seemed so long, a fan of gold dust against his flushed cheeks. “Kenny,” he breathed. “Please, just — please.”

Kenny lifted his mouth off, said, “I know,” and pinched Uri’s nipple to punctuate the point. “Good?”

“More than good," Uri ground out with effort. 

He kissed Uri on the mouth, and wondered how he’d come to enjoy the sensation so much, like somehow kissing had become more intimate than fucking. He stopped, pulled back enough to lounge against his side next to Uri, head propped up with the heel of his hand. “You’re a mess,” he mocked, mimicking Uri’s accent flawlessly, amused. 

“You’re an intolerable tease,” Uri groaned. 

“Are you all right for—” Kenny’s hand trailed down to tug at Uri’s cock a few times. Precome smeared onto his fingers. 

Uri’s voice softened. “Yeah,” he said. 

Kenny rolled Uri away to face the window and spooned up behind him, pressing their bodies flush together. He craned his head to kiss at the nape of Uri’s neck where his scent was so thick, musky and masculine and powerful and addictive. Uri raised his upper leg, bit down hard on his lip as Kenny slipped two fingers into him. 

“Yeah, you’re good,” Kenny breathed, adding spit to his fingers and coating the tip of his cock with it. He anchored his hand around Uri’s leg, hoisted it up high, and pushed his cock into Uri with a sigh. 

He took Uri slowly this time, unhurriedly, pressing in the full length of his cock before sliding out. His hand went to Uri’s cock, gripped it, rubbed his thumb around the head. He grunted with each thrust; Uri replied with soft, short moans as he pushed back. All the little noises that Uri made filled Kenny with a kind of lulling pleasure. 

It was a world of difference from the fuck they had earlier; this was something else entirely, like a curious feeling of being safe after a particularly harrowing escape. This was intimate. It was — fuck, emotional. He sank his teeth into Uri’s shoulder, groaning, as the realisation coursed through him. 

“Uri,” he said in an embarrassingly small voice. 

In response, Uri put his hand over Kenny’s and pulled it away from his cock. He interlaced their fingers instead, brought them to his lips and kissed the palm of Kenny’s hand. To the feel of Uri’s breath ghosting over his fingers, Kenny came, just like that, without warning. 

It was another few hours before Uri stirred again, squinting out the window in confusion at the darkness of the sky, the permanent amber cast that masked the sallowness in everyone’s faces. 

“It’s called the morning. No, it’s not particularly beautiful.” Kenny stooped to fasten his boots, hat sliding down his brow. “By virtue of being underground.”

Uri sat up lethargically, ran his hand through his bird’s nest hair. He didn’t say anything, just watched from the other side of the bed as Kenny finished dressing. 

“Well, what happens now?” Kenny said, turning to face him. 

The sheets bunched around Uri’s hips. “Usually what happens is that I alter your memories and never see you again,” he said hollowly, returning to gaze out the window, the brown glow around the edges of his body tracing a gilded gold outline. “Except I can’t alter your memories.” The muscles in his back and shoulders knitted with tension. “And I think I’d like to see you again.” 

When Uri turned to face him, he was smiling but there was something heavy, burdened in his eyes too, a glassiness that could have been a trick of the light. 

Kenny arched across the bed and placed his hand on the small of Uri’s back, felt Uri relax into the warmth of it, the intimacy of the gesture. He brushed his thumb along the ridge of Uri’s spine, over each delicate undulation.

Uri stroked the side of Kenny’s face as he kissed him, slow, tender, as though it were their first. His fingers carded through Kenny’s hair at the temple. They were silent in the ambient noise of civilians waking and preparing for the day. When they broke apart, Uri inhaled sharply and pushed back the covers. He slid to his feet.

“I need to get back in time for breakfast.”

Kenny fought not to roll his eyes. “Please, as insipid as he is, I’m sure even Rod can figure out how to spread jam on toast. First step: unscrew lid. Second step: cry over puny arms and get Uri to open the jar with his titan strength instead. Is that how it goes?”

“I don’t want him to worry.”

“You don’t want him to start asking questions.”

Uri grunted, bending to collect his clothes, affording Kenny a magnificent view of his arse. “Something like that.”

“Tell him you were debauching yourself.”

At that, Uri laughed and gave Kenny a mock stern look. 

“The water’s gone cold.”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Uri gave himself a cursory clean at the washbasin, rubbing his pits and groin vigorously to chase away the cold. It was clear that the first thing he intended to do upon returning home would be to furiously scrub down every inch of his body that might have made contact with the Underground. He dressed without fanfare, even as Kenny watched with lips parted. 

Piece by piece, layer by layer, that glorious body was covered up, the curve and strain of lithe muscles replaced by that hideous robe. It was just as well. Kenny would’ve eagerly fucked him again in public view if Uri were to parade around in anything more appealing. 

They stepped out onto the street, dodged a wagon of misshapen fruit, and started toward the nearest staircase to the surface.

“Where’s your horse?”

“Northern gate.”

Kenny tutted. “They overcharge.”

“They’re convenient,” Uri replied distractedly, in a voice that suggested he was well aware. “You don’t have to walk me.”

Kenny stuck his hands into his pocket, shrugged as nonchalantly as he could muster, gaze averted. “I’m hungry,” he said. “You owe me, probably.”

They paid the guards at the staircase and headed toward the pinprick of white light that grew larger as they ascended, leaving behind the stale stench of the Underground. At the surface, the sun was just beginning to drift into the sky. Kenny’s eyes stung from keeping them open for so long. 

The scent of coffee wafted in the lane, mingling with the buttery smell of baking. Next to the staircase was a coffeehouse, dimly lit, lined with dirty windows that might have been intentionally stained or simply neglected into a deep bronze colour. Inside was blustering with noise as strangers gathered to glut on political scandals and gossip about town. Sort of the masculine version of the teahouse in the botanical garden, Kenny supposed, mentioning this to Uri as they slid into a booth by the window. 

“Only with uncomfortable panel bench seats and far heartier offerings from the kitchen.”

“People aren’t so different after all,” said Uri, his attention falling on the array of newspapers and pamphlets scattered on the table. He scanned through the headlines with polite indifference, absently sipping at his cup of coffee when it arrived. “The enquiry into the embezzlement debacle is coming to an end,” he murmured, eyes following the fine print.

“And everyone gets off scot-free,” snorted Kenny, downing his coffee. It was gritty, muddy, horrible stuff really that slushed into his belly. When breakfast came, he tucked into it ravenously; he liberally smeared pale yellow butter on a dense slab of brown bread and speared a thick cut of ham. “That’s the problem when the people investigating are exactly the same people committing the crime. ‘Snot a surprising outcome, is it?” 

To his credit, Uri didn’t flinch when the spit-laden crumbs landed on his saucer; he just brushed it away with the edge of a fingernail. “Bit late to be outraged by the concept of crime, don’t you think?” he said mildly. 

“This isn’t me being hypocritical—”

“This is precisely you being hypocritical.” Uri smiled indulgently. “But go on.”

Kenny sliced into the meat and took another bite before answering. “Having to live according to a bunch of laws that the lawmakers themselves don’t subscribe to is down-right insulting. We’re supposed to aspire to become part of the elite but when you look up at the top of the tower, all you get is people shitting on you from on high.”

“That might be a little unkind. And oversimplifying things too.”

“No, it’s just pasty arses and shit.” He gestured out the window with the point of his knife. “The only people who want to get to the top are those with a burning desire to shit on others so everything just repeats itself. It’s the rotten infecting the rotten. And all you do is sit there and let it happen? What happened to fucking paradise if you have the power to change things?”

Carefully avoiding Kenny’s gaze, Uri picked up his piece of toast and considered it with more intensity that strictly necessary. “I can’t change everything, Kenny.” The words came as though from a script. “There are some bloodlines that I cannot control by force, only through influence—”

“And by continuing to feed them a stupid lie about how this is paradise. Right, because maybe if you say it often enough they’ll start to believe it.”

A sharpness in Uri’s eyes descended as he shifted his gaze out the window. He nibbled at the edge of the toast, chewing slowly. “This is as close to paradise as they’re going to get. They have wealth, power, influence, whatever they could possibly want. Such things are only relative. The concept of being powerful only exists if there are those who aren’t powerful. They’re not going to give it all up if it means that everyone else gets the same so of course it’s within their interests to believe in my cause.”

“Even if you don’t believe in it yourself?”

Uri set down his piece of toast abruptly. “I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t need to.”

For a second, it seemed as though Uri was going to become angry — and to be honest, Kenny would’ve preferred it that way. Anything was better than the look of wretched despair that flashed in Uri’s eyes, however brief, and the listless tone of his voice. 

“I’m trying, Kenny,” Uri said quietly. 

Kenny chuckled, albeit awkwardly. “I’m not shitting on you, Uri. Fuck, it’s not like I’ve got the magic panacea up my sleeve either so don’t take it the wrong way.” If he were a braver man, he might also have reached out to clasp Uri’s hand but instead he just returned to cutting up his breakfast into ribbons, knife squeaking against the plate. 

“I know that you’re not like the others, which is why we’re even able to have this conversation in the first place, and I know that you’re trying to make this better for everybody, even if at one point that meant a small minority of others had to, well…” He saw the pained grimace on Uri’s face and hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, we’ve been through that anyway. The point is, things could be better than they currently are.” 

“I need those people,” Uri muttered. “I need to have their trust and the only way in which that can be achieved is if I put my trust in them too.”

Kenny couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “But you clearly don’t.”

“Of course I don’t,” Uri snapped irritably, shoving away his plate. He then immediately jerked his hands back and drew in a deep breath to calm himself with a hint of abashment for the spectacle.

“I mean,” he said in a more steady voice, finally turning his head to look directly at Kenny, “Do you trust any of your underlings? How did you work your way to the top if not by taking advantage of those higher up on the social ladder than you? I’m not nearly so deluded as to think that rising to the top of the food chain is done entirely through kindness and loyalty and morality. Right as we speak I’m sure that every single one of those people who work for you is also plotting your downfall.”

“Naturally. Ambition is what drives success.”

“And don’t you need to allow them that freedom to keep them happy? If you crack down on everything you find abhorrent, how many of them are going to keep following you?” Uri huffed out a breath tiredly and slid his hands around his cup of coffee. “My hands are tied, Kenny.”

The way in which Uri slumped into his seat bothered Kenny more than he cared to admit. “Stop it. You sound like someone who’s already lost control.”

“Not yet but it’s … coming. Even if I were to unveil myself as the true king, it wouldn’t change anything. I’m just as flawed as everyone else — greed and desires and human urges.” He gave Kenny a lingering look.

Under the table, Kenny canted his leg to press up against Uri’s and smiled when he felt the corresponding nudge back. 

Laughing quietly under his breath, Uri finally cracked a grin. “So let Fritz parade around in his sumptuous clothes and gaudy crown. I have no use for them anyway.”

Kenny wrinkled his nose. “It doesn’t mean you have to resign yourself to these ugly rags though.”

“Oh, shut up about my clothes!” Uri exclaimed in exasperation, aiming a kick at Kenny from beneath the table and hurriedly squirming away to avoid retribution, laughing. “They’re comfortable and warm and perfect for living unobtrusively. Besides, it’s not as though I wear them all the time.” He shrugged, grinning. “I have a blue one, too.”

“Ugh. If I see it I’m going to burn it.” 

Uri groaned and pointedly ignored him in favour of licking the tip of his finger, and languidly flipping the pages of the newspaper to the rest of the embezzlement article. He hummed. “Three years imprisonment to the offenders. Maybe times are changing.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kenny announced and crammed his mouth with more cold ham. A little congealed egg yolk ringed the corner of his lips. “What?” he demanded, seeing the peculiar expression on Uri’s face. 

But Uri didn’t say anything for a while, just continued to smile at him over the top of his coffee with a sickeningly fond look. “You look so ordinary, that’s all,” he replied finally. 

Kenny sniffed. “No-one would ever believe that you’re the true king of this world.”

“What does it mean to be a king, anyway?” Uri mused aloud. “You asked me that before. It’s a leader, right? This world is full of them, from the child who instigates a game of catch to the foreman on a construction site. So doesn’t that mean that anyone could be king? Whichever way you look at it, I’m only the king through circumstance — it could have just as easily been Rod. We’re only who we are because of chance.”

“Chance, huh?” Kenny paused to observe the people strolling past the window, only dimly aware of an entire city bristling with motion, his breakfast left forgotten. 

“You could be any one of them,” said Uri. “You can be, if you wish.”

A small line creased between Kenny’s brows. “Not entirely sure I’d be happy with that,” he murmured softly, chin landing on the heel of his palm. 

“That?”

“With _just_ that.”

“Ah.” Uri slopped a dash of milk into his coffee, stirring. He set the spoon aside with a bright clink, looking unsurprised. “Circumstance led you to violence and now you’re dependent on it for a sense of purpose.”

“I told you not to analyse me.”

“Can’t be helped. There’s much of you that I still don’t know about.” He drank, licked his bottom lip discreetly as he peered at Kenny from over the rim of the cup. “Much that I’d like to know.”

Kenny snuck a sly glance from the corner of his eye and coloured, hastily seeking to cover it with a brusque grunt. It was mortifying how a mere look could be so turgid with insinuation, and how eagerly his body leapt to attention from it; he mentally chastised himself and replied, as insouciantly as possible, “Could be arranged. If it means free meals and good booze.” And the occasional filthy fuck, his traitorous mind added silently. 

“It can be as transaction as you’d like for it to be.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, peeling his attention away from the window and starting when faced with the sudden, ferocious intensity of Uri’s gaze. 

The switch had appeared almost instantaneous. Uri was all business, radiating power and control behind a wafer-thin patina of cool calm. “I want to know who told you about me,” he enunciated carefully, voice taking on a resonant quality that struck deep into Kenny. “Help me find the source of the leak. You’ll be rewarded, of course.”

“With?”

“Whatever you want,” Uri replied with the trace of a smile. “Within my limits.”

“So, basically, whatever I want.”

Uri sipped at his coffee leisurely, rolling his shoulder in an elegant shrug and leaving Kenny ensnared within his own thoughts. 

Funny how his most tumultuous moment could also be quite so sedate — just another man placidly breakfasting from the opposite end of a sticky table, stray breadcrumbs lining the space between them … a far cry from their first volatile meeting on the road to the Reiss family grounds. Then, the intent to spill blood had been as real as the cold, unyielding press of his trusted dagger against his hip, the reckless pledge to serve infected by the surge of adrenaline and relief. 

But Kenny, for all his careless talk and flippant remarks, had meant every word when he swore allegiance to the king — no, not the king, to _Uri_. The only man to have ever stood up to him and maybe, just this one time, come out on top.

It was evident that this was Kenny’s chance to back out of their deal; he was teetering upon the precipice, seeing only murky shadows of what lay ahead. Uri wasn’t simply asking for a name. He was also asking for the consequences and Kenny knew enough that in this world of secrets and lies, there was only one way to silence someone permanently. 

Getting his hands dirty wasn’t an unknown occurrence, only this order was burnished with a royal decree. 

“How much do you trust me to stay loyal?” said Kenny, his heart thudding like a drum. 

He watched, scarcely trusting himself to breathe, Uri picked over the words with the detached air of an advocate, tasted the nuances behind them with indolent pleasure. 

“Not at all,” replied Uri finally, draining the last of his coffee. He sidled out of the bench and rose to his feet, hands automatically casting up the hood of his robes.

In the filtered light he looked like any other priest, an ordinary man who lived in a realm above those of mortals. Then he smiled, dipped his head and whispered into Kenny’s ear, “But it’d be much more interesting to be proven wrong, don’t you think?”

The sky line was beginning to glisten with sunlight. Behind him, the city thrived like a bounding pulse and in the heart of it all was Uri, who had kept them safe for so long. Uri, whose single easy smile could inspire a multitude of emotions never known before.

Kenny couldn’t help but laugh. 

“All right,” he said, a mischievous quirk to his mouth. “I‘ll see what I can do.”


End file.
